


Break Loyalties

by forbiddenleo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenleo/pseuds/forbiddenleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He had given up so much, so much normality, so much life, so many dreams to help Scott. He never got as much as a thank you." Stiles begins to contemplate the effects of his friendship with Scott- The way Scott would ignore him for Allison, the way Stiles was never respected for the amount of times he put his life in danger. This gets pushed to the edge when Derek kidnaps Stiles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: This is from my fanfiction story. It is set at the beginning of season 2

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Stiles fiddled anxiously with his keys, twisting the rotting metal between his fingers and wringing the little chains which dangled off. His eyes flickered over to the clock, as silent and still as ever. He'd been glancing up at it constantly for the last several minutes, waiting for the little hand to tick faster and the larger one to hurry up and sprint to the end of the class period. He removed his hand from his pocket and rubbed his eyes, stifling out a small yawn. Stretching backwards and cracking his spine his eyes wandered up to the ceiling and began counting the tiles as he always did with boredom. 47, it never changed. In the background Stiles could hear the voice of his teacher droning on about math or science or galaxies or something that would be completely irrelevant to his life and his furry friend's problems.

A girl a few rows ahead of him flinched and shifted in her chair. Stiles eyes drifted over to the movement and gazed at the back of her blonde hair, secretly wishing for so much more. He had been in love with Lydia, but he was still a teenage boy and was captivated by anything with a bouncing chest and a heartbeat. He shook his head of any fantasies, trying to focus back on reality. It could never happen. Sure, he was normal. He had a relatively normal family, minus the mother. But the problem was with his relatively normal friend, minus the claws, furs, and prevalent drama and danger and his normal girlfriend, minus the angst werewolf hunting family. No, it could never work with him and another normal person. He knew too much, he had seen too much, and it may just push him over from being weird to being actually mentally unstable in another's eyes. Not that he could have had a chance with her before the werewolf fiasco, but any slight hope was beyond diminished. He had given up so much, so much normality, so much life, so many dreams to help Scott. He never got as much as a thank you.

Stiles shook his head and twitched his tongue on the inside of his mouth. He didn't need a thank you. Scott was his best friend; surely he would do the same if Stiles was the werewolf. Definitely. They had been best friends ever since his mother had passed away and a few scratches, late nights, and crazy life threatening events weren't going to change that. Plus, it was pretty awesome that your best friend is a werewolf. Not everybody got to have so much excitement every night.

Finally the bell pierced his ears and with one swoop of his arms Stiles gathered his books and dashed out of the classroom, ignoring his teachers glare. He sprinted towards his Jeep, now so covered in dents and dings and paint chips that it may very well fall apart at the touch. He popped open the trunk and tossed in his backpack, letting a flood of pencils and papers spill out. He muttered under his breath and toyed with the zipper, trying to get it to close. Then he heard footsteps slowly approach him from behind. He ignored them, assuming they belonged to someone who was just going to their car. When suddenly the footsteps stopped their pounding relatively close to stiles car. Stiles turned around out of curiosity and was met with a fist pounding into the side of his head.

Isaac let out a small smile as Stiles began to slump to the ground, still barely holding onto consciousness. His arm stumbled over his cars bumper and the rest of his body fell to the aspault from shock and pain.

"Derek wants to see you." Isaac said. That was the last thing Stiles heard before a fist plowed into his temple and introduced him to the dark slumber of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that he felt was the cool touch of metal against his back. Out of instinct he tilted his head backwards, only to have it collide with the stinging icy touch of a steel door right against his temple. He groaned and his hands shot up to touch the wound against his head and apply pressure. He could feel the crusted blood against his fingers and ruffled through his short brown hair.

Stiles squinted open his eyes, partly expecting a brightly lit, sanitized hospital bed with blinking objects and buttons surrounding him. Maybe even Lydia at his bed side. Instead, he was met with the complete opposite. He gazed upon a dark room containing a sole burning out light bulb with dingy figures of a grimy bathtub and a rotting toilet lurking in the background. And Derek was at his bed side.

Well, not really his bed nor at his side. Derek stood across the room propped up against a wall that looked nearly ready to give way. His shadowed facial hair and tightened black leather jacket stood out against the pale coloring of the wall paper.

Instantly, Stiles scooted backwards, slamming his back further into a wall and his head whipped around, looking for anybody else. He frantically spun around, avoiding the extended the piece of metal which rested against the wall, most likely a forgotten towel rack that had been left to decay alongside the rest of the room.

"Well, you sure took your time waking up." Derek said, letting a placid grin peak out at the edges of his lips.

"Yeah, sorry about my rudeness." Stiles remarked sarcastically, still holding his hand to his head. His eyes continued to dance around the room, avoiding eye contact with Derek but also searching out his best friend. "I should really be more polite and regain consciousness sooner when people knock me out and drag me to their rotting houses."

"Must sarcasm always be your first line of defense?" Derek responded, slightly rolling his eyes at the coy reply.

"Yes, so far it has stopped bullets, sexually transmitted diseases, and deranged werewolves" Stiles paused, his tongue flicking out against the inside lining of his cheek, "Like you."

Derek let out a frustrated sigh and perched forward, resting his hand against the edge of the browning bath tub and the other rubbed against the edge of his forehead. "I've forgotten how much your snarky comments annoyed me."

After scanning the room for the near hundredth times Stiles began to accept that he was alone in the room with the psychotic alpha. No Scott and no windows for him to leap through at any sudden moment. He met Derek's eyes and realized how long it had been since the night of prison disaster. He was grounded for nearly a month due to being stranded alone with an unconscious cop and the empty cage of an escaped fugitive who happened to be a werewolf. It always turned out like that; nobody cared about those little things, about sticking him with the clean up, the awkward messes of human life. Like taking countless periods of detention so that Scott could get off, with any pun involved, scot free and hang out with Allison or deal with his werewolf drama and leave Stiles alone with the vengeful science teacher. Like having to explain to his sheriff father the late nights, the destroyed jeep, and the constant appearances at crime scenes. It certainly didn't help his decomposing relationship with the sole member of his family.

Stiles shook his head, trying to force the thoughts out of his head, yet they always clung onto the corners of his mind.

"At least Allison screamed a little." Derek mocked and Stiles head jerked up at the mention of Scott's precious female.

"Allison? Where is she? What did you do to her?" Stiles shouted out in a flurry, his tongue rapidly shouting out questions.

"Nothing more than what was done to you."

"I swear, if you hurt her…" Stiles trailed off, trying to think of a reasonable threat against a man who could rip him to shreds in a blink of an eye. "I'll… I'll tell Scott!" He cringed, realizing how pathetic that came out.

Derek couldn't help but chuckle. "Doesn't your own lack of power disgust you? Aren't you ever going to be sick of calling out to Scott to save you?"

Stiles just bit the inside of his lip, gnawing on it thinking for some kind of a witty answer. He couldn't help but to think back to his refusal of the bite from Peter. Peter had told him that he was lying when he said no. And he was right. There hadn't been a day that passed by without Stiles considering how different things would have been if he had said yes. But he said no. He wanted to step out of the shadows, to be able to protect himself, his dad, his town. He was capable of understanding the werewolf world, he was engrossed in the rampant drama it provoked, yet he could do nothing. But he still said no. He refused it. Maybe it was for the sake of being normal, the sake of being willing to be that key part of Scott's life that kept him tied to the coursing flux of the world that society considered normal- Another sacrifice he committed for the sake of his friendship. Or maybe it was because he was afraid, afraid of how he would change. He saw it in Scott, the rage and, on the opposite side, the constant feeling of needing to protect. Stiles flinched as the taste of blood began to seep into the corners of his mouth. He had gnawed through part of his lip, pressing down harder and harder the more he thought about this stuff which constantly seemed to plague his mind.

"You seem far more concerned about her safety than yours." Derek said his toning forcing it into a question more than a statement.

Stiles eyes, brimming with what courage he could muster, drew up to Derek's as he replied, "Because I know your limits with me. You won't kill me."

Derek faked a step towards Stiles, whose body instinctively backed away but his face stayed stone cold.

"Fine, you know what, I am slightly terrified of you. But you won't kill me. I've saved your freaking life," Stiles shouted, standing his ground against the intense glare that Derek was delivering him, "More than once, I might add."

"And you think that makes it so I won't kill you?" Derek responded sharply, his jaw clanging on every word.

Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head in response. Any hint of a smile had fled from Derek's face as he began to walk towards Stiles. The younger brunette tried to hold his ground, keep his face straight, but he couldn't help but feel his fingers shake and his heart scream and leap from his chest. Every fiber of his body told him to run, to flinch and jolt away from the impending man.

And suddenly Derek shot his arm out. His hand clenched around Stiles throat, slamming the teen up against the wall with a loud noise, lifting him a foot off the ground. Stiles hands shot to his neck, clasping around Derek's trying to gain any support. Claws began to extend from the edges of Derek's fingers, digging into the pasty skin of the petrified Stiles. Small drops of blood began to form at the edges of the marks as the sharpened claws rooted into Stiles flesh.

"I wouldn't be so damn sure about that." Derek murmured, leaning into Stiles ear.

Stiles began to gasp, the air escaping from his lungs and no more entering his body. His legs uselessly kicked below him, struggling to find any ground. Heaving and painful attempts for air ensued. Stiles could feel his lungs began to shriek and scream for air, curling up tight and pulling at the edges of Stiles pain.

Then Derek released his grip and Stiles crashed down the floor, his hands still clasped around his neck and began to swallow in as much air as possible.

"However," Derek said, backing away from the blue tinted teen, "It is not my choice to make."

Stiles looked up at his assaulter, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and oxygen refill into his lungs. "What does that mean?"

A noise erupted from below, something which sounded oddly familiar to a door crashing through and slamming into a pillar. It echoed up to the bathroom and a flurry of banging noises ensued below, followed by an enraged howl which began to shake the floor boards

"Ah," Derek said, a grin once again developing across his tight lips, "That would be our Guest of Honor!"


	3. Chapter 3

A noise erupted from below, something which sounded oddly familiar to a door crashing through and slamming into a pillar. It echoed up to the bathroom and a flurry of banging noises ensued below, followed by an enraged howl which began to shake the floor boards.

"Ah," Derek said, a grin once again developing across his tight lips, "That would be our Guest of Honor!"

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The growl of the visitor pierced throughout the house and Stiles was tempted to cover his ears from the blasting sound. Scott. He immediately thought, a small grin drawing to his face. He glanced up at Derek whose face also had a light smile across it. He's not surprised at all… He knew Scott would come for me. Stiles thought with a little confusion.

The howling turned into a scream, shouting for Derek to come down. Stile flinched away at the raw anger in Scott's voice, a feeling of proud loyalty arising for his best friend. Derek seemed all too eager to oblige Scotts call as he began to head out the door and moments before he slammed the rusted bolts shut he turned and gave Stiles a sideways smirk, whispering "Make sure you listen closely."

Once Derek left Stiles leapt up and bolted towards the door. His legs wobbled from cramps from staying down so long and he tripped, nearly slamming head first into the door. Stiles let out a small moan as he reached for the handle, finding the door not surprisingly locked. "Oh, of course his doors lock. Wouldn't want anybody breaking into this gorgeous house…" He said out loud bitterly.

Stiles stiffened his shoulders and began to ram into the door. The first slam the door hinges squeaked and rattled. The second barrage the door wiggled slightly out of place. The third slam seemed to hurt Stiles shoulder more than the door. "Will you quit that?" A voice shouted angrily from the other side of the door. Isaac, Stiles thought darkly, still feeling the blow to his head. He tried to think up a witty comeback, but the only thing that drew into his mind was a 'your mom' joke. It doesn't matter, even if I get out Isaac will just shove me back in here.

For the second time that day, Stiles was at a loss for words at his own powerlessness, angry at the lack of strength that was held behind his pale fists. But he shook his head, Scott will come. He always comes. And with that Stiles collapsed on the floor, rubbing his bruised shoulder and tried to steady his breathing to a quiet enough pace that he could hear what was happening on the lower floor.

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Scott burst through the door, quite literally as the double French doors slammed across the dingy great room and skidded to a halt at the bottom of a decaying staircase that was missing several steps. Scott let out another scream and his head furiously whipped around. His face was coated in werewolf hair, his eyes glowed yellow, and his fangs peered out of the corners of his mouth. His senses were intensely heightened and he looked up to see Derek standing at the top of the stair case.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Derek asked in a mocking tone. Scott responded with a low growl in his throat.

"Where is she?" Scott shouted furiously. Upstairs Stiles felt himself cringe and slink back against the floor.

"She?" Derek replied harshly, his eyes narrowing and a dark red spotting his eyes. His voice was loud, projecting so that Stiles could hear every word.

"Yes! Allison! I know you took her!"

"Allison… Allison…" Derek said, mockingly taping the bottom of his chin. "Oh yes, the hunters daughter."

"Where is she?" Scott shouted. His fangs grew longer and his eyes even more intense. He repeated himself angrily. "Where is she?"

"Are you sure you're thinking of the right person?"

"Yes! I could smell you in her room! Where is Allison? Give her back. Do you know how dangerous it was too take her? The hunters will kill you! I will kill you…" Scott replied with a fierce look in his eyes. He sunk down to all fours, his stubby hands ejecting dangerous claws, and let out a low growl, "I'm not afraid to hurt you Derek."

Derek just shook his head in disgust, ignoring Scott's threats. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Scott didn't even seem fazed at the question and brushed it off. "No mind games Derek. Just give me back Allison. If this is some ploy to get me to join your pack I'm telling you, once again, no."

The alpha just scoffed at the teen. "I've given up trying to make you join my pack. You would never give me your loyalty."

Scott lunged at the Alpha, preparing to launch his fresh claws into Derek's chest. But the older man was too quick and dodged Scotts' assault and turned under him. He pushed upwards on Scott's stomach as the younger teen flew over him, sending Scott directly into a wall with a thump.

"Speaking of loyalty, I'm quite sure you are forgetting something. Or someone."

"I just want Allison" Scott groaned out, regaining his standing posture. He climbed up the edge of a column and leapt at Derek. Derek lifted his fist and plowed it into Scotts jaw moments before the younger teen could force any damage on Derek. The blow connected with a sickening crack, sending Scott tumbling to the ground with his jaw askew.

Upstairs Stiles heard this and began to shake, wondering if Scott even knew he was there, if Scott even cared that he was there.

"What about that one person- the one who is always there for you, just a phone call away even though you will never pick up your phone for them, even when they are drowning in a pool holding me unconscious? What about that one person who you always put in danger, the one who can't protect himself with anything more than his tongue? What about that one person you call your best friend who you never care about putting his life in danger countless times?" Derek shouted at Scott and he could feel his eyes glow a dark red and a deep growl formed in his throat. What about Stiles? Derek thought maliciously. "Yes, Allison is here, and if you used your senses you would actually be able to tell that so is a certain someone else."

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"I suppose that's my cue." Isaac said, taking a rustic key and unlocking the door with it. Stiles contemplated running, sprinting down and screaming for Scott, leaping into his arms like some horrid romantic comedy that Allison had forced them to watch. But he couldn't even bring himself to stand up.

He forgot me, for Allison. He didn't even realize I was here but the moment his precious Allison is taken he notices.

Stiles tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. Telling himself how fair it was for Scott to not assume that Derek would take him, given the whole 'I've saved your life' relationship that Stiles had with the alpha. Maybe that was exactly it, Scott always assumed Stiles would be safe and Allison, the girl trained in archery with a werewolf hunting family, would always be the one in danger. Even when Peter came after Lydia and Stiles went with him, Scott never expressed a concern for his safety. It never even crossed his mind that Stiles would be hurt, that Stiles, the only normal one who gained no powers or abilities, would be the one in trouble. I make a terrible damsel in distress. Stiles thought sadly.

Isaac glared at the brunette who was sitting on the floor, lost in his own thoughts while carefully listening to the conversation taking on below him. "Get up." Isaac ordered.

Stiles let out a heaving sigh. "Thanks for not knocking me out this time. Someone has been learning some manners." Isaac gripped the side of Stiles arms tight, pulling him up forcibly. Stiles stuttered to find his footing and gave Isaac one last sarcastic stare before he was pulled out of the dingy bathroom and thrust down the stairs.

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Isaac shoved Stiles forward, and the brunette tumbled to his knees. Isaac wrapped a pair of handcuffs around the stairs banister and chained Stiles against the bottom of the stairs.

Stiles wished he could pretend to be joyful from seeing his best friend only a few feet away from him. But he couldn't hide his disappointment in his best friend. He could sense Allison, but he never even considered Stiles. He never considered Stiles. He never thought about him, the sacrifices he made and the things that the werewolf drama had put him through. So why would he pay attention to Stiles now? Once again Stiles twitched his head, becoming increasingly sick of his brain's depressing thoughts.

Scott nearly rushed towards him, but he was thrown back by Erika. "Stiles! Stiles, What are you doing here?" He shouted from behind the blonde werewolf's grasp.

Stiles looked up at his best friend with a slight harshness in his eyes. "Oh, ya' know, having a lovely tea party with my new werewolf friends. We were just about to put on glow sticks and have a real banging time…" His words dripped in sarcasm but his eyes truly screamed for Scott to help him.

Suddenly, Boyd appeared on the other side of the stair case, dragging Allison along by the scruff of her cropped leather jacket. He tossed her down to the ground, her curled brown locks tumbling over her face. She shot him a menacing glare. Boyd picked up a metal stake and slammed it down in between her hand cuffs, nailing her to the floor so that she couldn't move. She attempted to jump forward, but the metal pole held her back. "Scott!" Allison screamed, with a slight tear in her eye.

"Allison!" Scott screamed out, reaching his hand out for her. His wolf growled and he used his strength to throw Erika off of him. The newer werewolf found herself colliding with a wall, which broke through into another room. Scott dashed out towards his girlfriend but was stopped by Derek.

Scott attempted to punch the Alpha, but years of training proved far superior for Derek as he nimbly dodged all of Scott's attempts at a punch. Derek slammed his fist into Scott's stomach in one swift motion, knocking the wind out of the younger werewolf's lungs and causing him to collapse to his knees.

"I'll give you a choice," Derek said with sickeningly sweet tone, looming over the gasping Scott. "You can choose one of them."


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles felt his fingers shake and his brown doe eyes darted from Scott to Allison, but the werewolf was still clutching his stomach on the ground. Scott mumbled out a soft, "What?"

Derek swung his foot and the blow connected into Scott's chest, sending him back several feet. "I said I'll give you a choice. You may choose one of them."

"Choose…one of them?" Scott asked, already feeling his bones loop around each other with a warm healing glow. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I know you're not the brightest child, but really Scott, this isn't rocket science." Derek responded with a snarky tone, his red eyes glowing and staring down at Scott. "Choose one." Derek gestured towards Stiles and Allison.

"You can't be serious Derek…" Scott muttered, regaining his composure and stumbling up to his feet. Suddenly the pain in his chest began to numb as the wheels in his brain turned at the thought of what Derek was suggesting.

"Actually I am." Derek's eyes narrowed. "You can think of this as your punishment for your constant rebellious nature towards my pack." He let off with a fake grin.

"I am not a part of your pack!" Scott shouted. "If this is some sick attempt for my loyalty than…than…" He looked over at Allison and Stiles. Tied up and beaten. Dirty and bruised. Sad and afraid. Scott felt defeated. "Then you can have it. Just let them go." He felt like hanging his head in shame.

But Derek just clicked his tongue and shook his head at Scott. "I already told you, I have no interest in your loyalty to me. I am, however, interested to see where your true loyalties lie." And I will break them.

Scott's eyes lingered over his friends. Stiles was huddled up against the bottom of the staircase, his hands twisted uncomfortably behind him and his legs sprawled out pushing him farther and farther against the edge of the staircase and away from Isaac. His face was petrified, and obvious signs of bruising showed on his face. Then Scott's attention flickered over to his not-so-technically-girlfriend. Little tear drops had welled up in the corner of her eyes and her normally gracefully curled hair had become a rats nest, swollen in knots on one side and smashed tight to her face on the other. Even like that, Scott thought she looked beautiful. Her deep brown eyes connected with his and Scott could feel the fear rush through her. He clenched his hands, extending ten sharpened claws.

"I'll be taking them both!" Scott roared as he pounced off towards Derek. He bolted for the Alpha and let out an angry slash that connected with nothing more than the cloth of Derek's leather jacket. Derek narrowly bent backwards to avoid the next flurry of blows. Scott felt another punch graze the side of Derek's check and in that moment of victory, Derek slammed another fistful of anger into Scotts side. But Scott didn't flinch and continued through with a kick, which slammed in the crevice of Derek's neck, forcing the older man back several steps. Derek cracked his neck slightly and launched himself at Scott and plowed his fist into his chest once again, feeling the sickening touch of cracking ribs under his weight. With his other hand Derek gripped the fabric of Scott's worn out grey shirt and hoisted the younger wolf off the ground and growled into his face before throwing him against a wall with a crash.

Allison let out a small scream as her boyfriend slammed into the wall with a dysfunctional grown.

"And here I was being so generous as to let you take one of them home…" Derek shouted bitterly and sarcastically at Scott.

Scott began to hoist himself up onto his legs, propping himself up against the wall. His eyes glowed intensely at Derek, who in turn just shook his head. "Really, there's no point in trying that again. We both know it'll just end the same way." Scott growled as he felt his bones start to regenerate, again.

"Why Derek? Why are you doing this?" Scott shouted angrily, but with an air of disappointment in his voice.

"I told you, you can just think of it as a punishment." Derek said, but knew that would not satisfy the young wolf. "Or maybe it's because either of them can be of use for me."

He glanced over at Allison, whose look at turned to one of anger and hatred at the sight of Derek, who responded with a tiny grin. "Your girlfriend would make a useful bargaining tool against the Argents for when they come for me." He then turned towards Stiles, whose eyes weren't quite as soaked with hatred for Derek. "Or Stiles. I suppose he would make a fair tool to deal with the cops. Or maybe I could turn him, because unlike you I'm sure he has a shred of loyalty."

Stiles stomach turned upside. Turn me. He thought slowly. Normally his thoughts raced and spun around his head without control. But hearing it caused his brain to shut down. I…no. NO. I don't want to be a werewolf. A tiny voice in the corner of his mind whispered, Even after all of this? All of this powerlessness? All of your pathetic sniveling on the floor for Scott to save you? Stiles shook his head. No. Never.

"They've done nothing but help you!" Scott shouted out at Derek, his eyes frantically switching between Stiles and Allison.

"Allison has done nothing to help me besides bring her deranged family into my life." Derek responded. "And I'm not going to kill them. Well, probably not." His tone turned malicious at the end.

Scott had the edge of another question on his tongue, but Derek growled angrily. "Enough of this Scott. Choose. Your best friend," Derek said with an ounce of sarcasm, "Or your girlfriend."

Stiles sat there with confidence, he had to in order to keep from breaking down or crying. Scott would choose him. Scott had to choose him. He had been Scotts friend for years upon years. He was always there for Scott, and this one time, the one time Stiles needed him, he trusted that Scott would choose him. Over Allison- Some chick that had brought nothing but drama in his life. A girl who was obnoxiously consuming the small amount of space left in Scotts head. She was nothing more than a girl who Scott had barely known for a few months that only could offer him, pun intended, puppy love.

And so Stiles sat there with confidence- Until he looked over at Allison, who sat there with the same confidence.

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He would call her name out a thousand times. He would scream her name to the sky until his voice was shot to hell. He would shout her name until his throat bled and his tears tasted of the salt of sadness. He would yell for her, beg for her, crawl without limbs and die for her. And Derek knew it. He would choose her every time over Stiles. It was the sickening effect of convincing two delusional teenagers that they were under the glorious concept of love. He could see it in Scott's eyes as they flickered from Stiles to Allison. His gaze always lingered on Alison for a second longer, never quite daring to glance over at Stiles for too long for the corroding sense of guilt began to build.

And Derek knew from the beginning who he would choose. If Scott was willing to forgive Allison for trying to kill them all the night of Peter's demise, than he had truly become convinced he loved her. If he completely ignored the fact that moments before helping them, his girlfriend was armed with an arrow point at his head, than obviously there was no sense in him choosing Stiles. Yes, over Stiles. Over the teenager who devoted most of his time to researching werewolves or dealing with the massive amount of problems which Scott poured onto him. It would be Allison, every time.

Scott's breathing grew short as he looked up at Derek with a forced pleading expression. "Derek, please." Don't make me do this.

No reaction occurred on Derek's face. He just continued to stare angrily at Scott, forcing him to make a decision.

"Stiles…" Scott spoke slowly, his vision floating towards his best friend.

The quirky teen immediately leapt up with a slight look of relief and joy on his face. Me. He chose me. Stiles thought elatedly, with an ounce of shock. He almost couldn't believe it. He began to rattle his hands against the stairway and shoot a harsh glare to Isaac. This only caused Scott to choke up.

"I'm so sorry." He finished, his voice cracking quietly in the middle. Stiles froze, staring at his best friend with blank eyes. After a brief moment of silence he gave a tone of reason, "He'll kill her. He will. But he won't kill you."

Stiles stood there, rooted to the stairs with his hands still tied behind his back. He felt the world start to crumble. He won't kill me. That's your reason? His eyes drifted the ground as the world seemed to go deaf around him. Silence filled his ears and his thoughts and Stiles couldn't help but feel his eyes begin to fill up with water. He chose her. He just stood there with his mouth gaping open. He wanted to shout, to scream, to grab onto Scotts shirt and demand that he think about this. But he sat there in his rare moment of silence and heard his own heart sink to the floor.

"I choose Allison." Scott muttered softly, looking at his girlfriend. She was thrust forward by Boyd as he removed the stake and pushed towards Scotts open arms. She gladly ran into them and Scott tightly wrapped his arms around her waist as she let out a few weak tears.

Scott didn't need to be told to leave. He gathered up Allison in his arms and headed through the doors that he had broken through earlier. Guilt was caught in his throat and he wanted to scream out an apology to Stiles and tell him everything would be alright. But he had made his choice. And he was too guilty to even look back at the crushed soul of his friend.


	5. Chapter 5

"Stiles…" Scott spoke slowly, his vision floating towards his best friend.

The quirky teen immediately leapt up with a slight look of relief and joy on his face. Me. He chose me. Stiles thought elatedly, with an ounce of shock. He almost couldn't believe it. He began to rattle his hands against the stairway and shoot a harsh glare to Isaac. This only caused Scott to choke up.

"I'm so sorry."

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"We can go back," Allison cried out, tears dotting down the sides of her blushed over cheeks. "We can go back and save him. We can fight him Scott."

But Scott just shook his head. His eyes were numb and his heart pounded hard against his rib cage, banging against the edge of his soul and sending sharp pains all the way up to his brain. He couldn't go back. He knew he couldn't win. He could see Derek crushing him. He could see the raw stupidity as he tried, and failed. He could see what it would mean to try to fight so hard for Stiles and loose it all because he chose Allison.

Scott's throat tensed up. Stiles face was frozen in his mind. The pain of Scott's choice had stunned the quirky brunette like a hammer to the heart. Scott could literally see physical pain in Stiles eyes. Every time he blinked he saw Stiles face struck with shock, with disappointment. Those brown eyes, normally so full of rapid life were halted and empty, as if every emotion fled from Stiles to protect him from the blow of not being chosen. Scott saw it. The face, the small tears that would not fall, the shaking knees, and the crushed look that was riddled in Stiles face. Every dark corned screamed to Scott- Go back. Go back. He's your best friend.

But Scott kept walking with Allison frantically coddled in his arms.

Go back. Stiles face echoed in the empty space between trees laced in pure black.

He couldn't go back. He couldn't face Stiles and truly accept that he abandoned his friend.

Go back. His body screamed at him to turn around, but Allison's tears that stained his shirt kept him walking further and further from the house. He chose her. He couldn't go back.

Stiles- His best friend. Derek won't kill him. Scott told himself over and over again. He'll be fine. He said it over and over to make it true.

Go back.

Stiles- the man who had always been by his side ever since the first bite, Ever since the fight with Peter. Stiles can take care of himself. Scott thought desperately, trying to defend his position. He looked down at the curly brunette who began to limp beside him. The hunters would come for Derek, then for me. He would kill Allison, or worse… turn her. He had too many options with her. I had to protect her.

Go back.

Scott felt salt burn onto his tongue and wound on his face. The cool sting of the tear raced down from his eye. He chose her. And he would choose her again. He loved her.

Go back.

But he felt disgusted. First at himself, cursing his own powerlessness. He couldn't save the person that he dragged into the entire werewolf mess. He couldn't prevent Derek from taking Allison or Stiles. He couldn't do anything, but he felt Allison squeeze his arms and he realized at least one of them was safe. At least that was something.

That disgust soon shifted towards Derek. Scott felt a growl emerge in his throat. How dare he take them? How could he harm them? Stiles was harmless in his own stupid way. And Allison…Did he not even think of how the hunters would react? Why Derek…?

Eventually the questions faded, alongside the voice that urged him to go back. He noticed somebody talking.

He looked down at Allison who had begun rambling, as her baby eyes coated in an abundance of mascara looked up at Scott. "Are you even listening?" She asked softly, gently touching the edge of his arm and bit her lip with a concerned expression.

Scott let out a small sigh and shook his head, a lump forming in his throat from fear of speaking. Allison's head bobbed slightly. "We have to tell my dad."

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Stiles eyes stared at the spot where Scotts figure had been less than a minute ago. His sharp words rung throughout Stiles head and bounced around, spinning and twirling and flipping his brain and burning the sides with every touch.

Scott chose Allison. And he used the excuse that Derek wouldn't kill him. Clearly, he put too much faith in the big, bad old wolf.

It didn't matter. He chose her. Over me. Stiles thought. Everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, it didn't even matter. Those years of friendship and hard work had been outdone by a few months of drama and kissing. Maybe it's because she's prettier than me… Stiles wanted to slap his own face. His first response was sarcasm, anything to hide from the reality of what happened.

His best friend had left him. 'Bro's before Ho's" didn't matter to werewolves apparently. Maybe 'Hunters before humans' or 'Sluts before Stiles' would be more appropriate. He tried to keep thinking, trying to get away from reality.

But eventually he knew he would have to face the room around him.

Stiles finally opened his eyes and saw the entirety of the werewolf pack staring at him. Their eyes were softer, for despite being werewolves they could all see the pain that was coursing through Stiles heart. They could be cruel, but they weren't heartless. There was no pain greater than losing somebody close, but for them to choose to lose you is a far greater pain that none of them could fathom.

He wanted to collapse. To fall to the ground, curl up, as he did when his mother died. He wanted to hide under the stairs and let them collapse over his head. He wanted to run into emptiness of his stomach and disappear. He wanted them to stop looking at him, to stop pitying him. But most of all he wanted to cry and scream and slam his fist into the nearest available object.

But not now. Not in front of Isaac or Boyd or Erica. Not in front of Derek. He would not fall apart in front of that man.

He would fall apart on the inside, he would feel his insides twist up and rot. But he would hold it in. He would not let Derek see him cry; see him suffer from the plot that Derek had devised.

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He was trying to hide it. His face was trying desperately to remain blank. But he couldn't hide his pulse. It pounded hard against the tiles, echoing loud enough for all the werewolves to hear. It shuttered and beat rapidly, not from fear or anger, but from sadness.

Even now he isn't angry at Scott. Derek thought. Just disappointed. Just confused.

Silence had filled the room. Boyd, Erica and Isaac stood there uncomfortably, feeling the intense strain of emotions that encompassed the room. Stiles stared at Derek and Derek looked right back into the heart of Stiles eyes, feeling the younger's heart beat with every blink.

Derek wasn't blind or stupid. He could tell how crushed Stiles was, even though Stiles tried to keep a straight face. His eyes were red and bitterly salty from holding back tears and his bottom lip quivered slightly. His hormones reeked of fear from Derek and of a tangy sadness.

The silence became unbearable. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke, they all just stared quietly at each other, each mentally mulling over the events that just passed.

"He never cared for you." Derek finally spoke, his words cut like knives into the silence. All the betas heads whipped around to stare at him.

Stiles remained silent, although his eyebrows creased together. He cared. He always cared. He still cares. I know he does.

"He never really cared." Derek repeated, taking a step forward towards Stiles. "Maybe before the werewolves, before the bite, but not now."

"Now he has Allison and her drama. Now he has Jackson and his Kanima problems. He doesn't have time to care about your human nature."

"He cares…" Stiles murmured out. He still came on the night of the pool, even though he hung up. He still came with me to tell my father the truth, even though nothing came of it. Scott still cares…

"Really?" Derek remarked. "Then tell me, why did he choose Allison?'

"Because you made him!" Stiles snapped out, unleashing any rage that would have been directed at Scott at Derek instead.

"I gave him the choice. And he chose." Derek said bluntly, shaking off Stiles anger.

"You knew he would choose Allison." Stiles said weakly. "You knew it." Stiles remembered his face, filled with so much certainty of knowing who exactly Scott would choose. He remembered Derek's face out of the corner of his eye, the minor shock when Scott muttered Stiles name before apologizing. He remembered what Derek told him before Scott came. Derek knew that Stiles didn't ever stand a chance. He meant for it to happen.

Derek nodded. "And so did you. Somewhere you knew that he could choose Allison over you."

Stiles flinched at the remark. It stung to know that Derek was telling the truth.

"Scott became, shall we say, absorbed with himself and Allison." Derek said. "They were the front seat of his life and you were shoved away in the trunk. Even when it came to crumbling parental relationships the concern was on Allison's family, not on yours."

Stiles thought back to when Allison came to lunch one day, slamming her books angrily on the table, interrupting Stiles conversation with Scott. Stiles was talking about how he walked in on his father nearly crying, breaking down from the things that Stiles was keeping from him. Stiles needed to tell somebody, to tell Scott, about the rift that had started to consume his relationship with his dad. But the moment Allison walked in on the scene, Scotts focus faded. Allison faked a polite, 'Sorry am I interrupting anything?' and Stiles was ready to respond with a witty response when Scott shook him off, telling Allison 'of course not'. She sat down and unloaded her daddy issues at the lunch table while Scott listened intensely. All that Stiles remembered was chasing his tomatoes around his lunch tray for a half an hour.

"He never said thank you." Derek continued

There was a day after lacrosse practice, where Stiles was stuck cleaning the sweat and blood off of other team mates gear. It was Scott's day, but he was with Allison so Stiles said he would do it. He didn't mind. Really, he didn't. Except this was the third time. And right after he had detention, for some crime that Scott had committed that Stiles had accepted the blame. And right after that he had homework, both his and Scotts. He had started doing his best friends homework in an effort to make sure he passed his junior year. Really, he didn't mind. He swore he didn't as he sat alone in the damp locker room as he scrubbed dried sweat out of a jock strap and the smell stung in his nose.

"Never cared about how you constantly put your life on the line."

Stiles didn't really remember bolting after Lydia on the field when he saw Peter after her. It was reflex, it was instinct. His legs just moved him towards trouble. And after Lydia was safe enough in Jacksons arm, Stiles thought he was going to die. When he was at the car with Peter and he had finished tracing the phone, he thought he was going to die. And Scott was nowhere to be found.

"Never cared about all the horrible things you have seen. That no human should ever have to see."

Every night for the last several weeks Stiles relived the mechanics death. He saw the conveyor belt slowly sink down over the paralyzed body. He saw the weight of his baby jeep sink into the bones and flesh of the helpless man. He heard the bones crack through the sealed door. He heard the flesh squish, ripping at the nonexistent seams and breaking through with a flood of blood that splashed over the still screaming man. But most of all he saw the mechanics face. His eyes, wide at the sight of his own death yet still believing somebody would come to save him. His lips, screaming with confusing and pain as the weight of the car crushed him. And Stiles had to watch. He wanted to leap up, pull the lever, and stop the car. But he couldn't turn his head away. He couldn't close his eyes. All he could see was the agonizing death.

"And how you have gained absolutely nothing. Scott got the girl. Scott got the powers. And you, you got nothing."

Stiles saw Scott bolt across the field and slam the ball into the net with his lacrosse stick. The crowd went wild at the winning point. Allison ran up and kissed him. His mother jumped happily up and down and congratulated her only son. Stiles stayed on the sidelines, keeping the bench warm. He wasn't jealous, but he wished he was on that field, with his father's eyes full of pride. He wished he could have run to Lydia in time on the field. He wished he could have protected his father and his friends. He wished for anything, but all he got was the weakness of being human amongst a pack of supernatural beings. 147 pounds of white boy next to muscles built upon more muscles under a tan glow. He was nothing.

"He owes you everything and you owe him nothing." Derek finished, seeing Stiles eyes come back from looking distant.

He's right. Stiles thought. Everything, all of it, had been for nothing. He would forever be in the shadows, unwanted until he was needed. And then once that was finished he would be thrown again into the background. The little maid to clean up Scotts messes. The best friend who wasn't best at anything. Scott didn't want him. He was only convenient for Scott.

His eyes began to burn.

Don't cry, Stiles. Don't cry. He told himself

But the salty feel overtook his eyes.

Not now…

His lips shook and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth.

Stiles gave several heaving breathes and felt his eyes begin to spill over with sadness. He crumpled down to his knees, defeated. He pressed one pale hand to his eyes, pushing in with pressure to keep the tears from falling.

All that strength he had saved up from the last few months, all those tears he held in from physical and mental pain, all of that appearance of being fine crumpled down too. In that moment Stiles broke.

"And what, now he owes you something because you let his girlfriend live? Or do I owe you something for enlightening me?" Stiles said, his hands still pressed to his eyes. The tears fell down anyways. He wouldn't sniffle, he wouldn't sob, but he wouldn't hold back the tears. Congratulations Derek. You have ripped me from my best friend. Would you like a medal? A starring role on a sitcom? Or would you rather I go watch reruns of the Notebook crying into ice cream. Take your pick.

"Quite frankly Scott is drowning in his debt to people, so he owing me anything wouldn't matter."

"You obviously wouldn't go through all this trouble if you didn't gain anything," Stiles muffled through his voice which had become choked up. He looked up at the werewolf, who was now barely a few feet away. Stiles eyes were swollen and red as he spoke. "So what do you want?"

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	6. Chapter 6

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"He owes you everything and you owe him nothing." Derek finished, seeing Stiles eyes come back from looking distant.

He's right. Stiles thought. Everything, all of it, had been for nothing. He would forever be in the shadows, unwanted until he was needed. And then once that was finished he would be thrown again into the background. The little maid to clean up Scotts messes. The best friend who wasn't best at anything. Scott didn't want him. He was only convenient for Scott.

Stiles eyes were swollen and red as he spoke. "So what do you want?"

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Derek crouched down in a squat, his tightened jeans rested against the heels of his warn out boots. His iced blued eyes stared in Stiles tired brown ones. Stiles could feel his eyes burning, but not quite sure if it was from overwhelming hatred, sadness, or the salty sting of held back tears. Derek's eyes met his brown and reflected back the crystal blue as he murmured. "You"

Stile could almost feel his chin drop down slightly in shock. Part of him felt like wearing the hottest pink shirt he owned and prancing over to Danny's and having a chick flick marathon while caking on gallons of hair gel. The other part of him wondered what his father would think. And finally part of him reminded him of the glorious thing called boobs and that quickly shook him out of any other thoughts that pranced gleefully into his mind.

Derek coughed slightly hearing an obnoxious snicker from Isaac whose jacket was pressed into his mouth to stifle anymore of a laugh. "I want you," Derek continued, looking over his shoulder and giving Isaac a glowing red glare, "to join my pack."

Derek ran his coarse fingers over a pair of keys and twirled them skillfully in his grip. He dug them into the lock of Stiles handcuff, releasing the crushed teen, who immediately began to rub his wrists, mainly out of reflex though slightly from him pulling at them to get to Scott. Stiles eyes flickered momentarily to the door and Derek felt his heart sink slightly- But Stiles wasn't stupid enough to run. Not from him and not from the situation. And soon enough his eyes darted back to meet Derek's.

An intense moment of silence followed. Well he sure doesn't waste any time. The quirky teen thought jokingly as only five minutes ago the wolf was slamming down every essence of 'friend' that existed in Scott. Stiles glanced around the room and felt the tears begin to halt in his eyes and gave his best sideways smirk, "That's the whole invitation? No giant banner or confetti? I was really hoping for a welcoming party…"

Derek gnawed gently on the inside of his lip and resisted the urge to roll his eyes up into his head. "Somehow, I'm fresh out of all of those." And even after that you still have all of your sarcasm.

"Then at least explain why you nearly threatened to kill me, rip out my throat, and possibly use it as a chew toy for your new puppies." Stiles shot back, thinking of how Derek pushed him against the wall, threatening him with a fate equal to death. He could still feel the heat radiating from his body, but also the cool touch as the claws curled around his throat.

"It wouldn't have been fair if Scott believed you to be safe." Derek replied, his response completely at the ready. Or if you had believed yourself to be safe. "But he was right about one thing. I won't kill you. You've done nothing to deserve that."

Stiles swallowed hard and looked down at the decaying floor. It wouldn't have been fair. Then he would have chosen Allison and I would have thought nothing of it. But we were both in danger, and he chose her, even then…

"Look," Derek said as his tone shifted softly, drawing Stiles attention back to him, "You already know the situation with the hunters, the kanima, and all of the werewolf business. You're a perfect fit." Derek thought back to the first explanations to the new werewolves. Their first vacant faces filled with surprise and doubt, which quickly turned to greedy longing for the bite and their harsh ignorance to the hunter situation. They only cared for themselves, for the selfish desire of making themselves better. But not Stiles. Derek thought gently. And that's why I need him.

"Yeah, all of those furry little hairball problems." Stiles said as he ruffled his dirtied fingers through his buzzed hair.

"Those little problems are already yours." Derek remarked coyly. "And the bite would only make you prepared to deal with them." Instead of hiding behind the back of your friends.

Stiles chewed on the edge of his pinky fingernail, softly gnawing on it with his front teeth. "And that fur coat and pointy fangs would also get me killed." Stiles replied, stressing the last word and dragging it out. "Killed." He repeated nodding his head up and down rapidly.

"And if it's up to me, since you're kindly giving me a choice in the whole deal," Stiles continued, interrupting Derek's glaring silence, "I'm going to choose to die human, rather than with the taste of rabbit blood and rabies in my mouth."

"Don't you get it? You can finally be all of those things that Scott is." Derek nearly shouted, he could feel his voice rising. To him, it all made sense. The bite and the honor it held. He was born a werewolf, so the thought being a weak and defenseless human seemed ridiculous, if not disgusting. The gift of power, of influence, of everything human nature craved could be given. And it was just that, a gift. Not necessarily a present wrapped under a Christmas tree, but a gift nonetheless.

Stiles shot Derek a harsh glare. "Well fortunately for my identity crisis I have no desire to be Scott. Or anything like him." His voice was sour as every awful thing Scott had done, every damned sacrifice that Stiles had made, and every ounce of drama that Scott had soaked into Stiles life came rushing to his mind.

"You really don't want it?" Derek said with a bit of masked shock. He stared into the brown eyes, trying to understand. And even more, trying to win over the mind behind them. "The speed. The strength. The power?"

"No." Stiles said bluntly. He didn't have a need for speed or strength or power. Sure, the varsity line up sounded glorious and the attention would be fantastic in its own right, but it wasn't Stiles. He didn't ever have the desire for those shallow things.

"What about your panic attacks?" Derek said, trying to play on the same card that he did with Erika and her seizures. "Those could go away."

Stiles inhaled sharply and his mind traveled back to years before. His mother had passed away, a car accident or a murder. Stiles couldn't even remember the details. Everything was really a blur, a mash up of tears and people giving him sympathy but not closure. The words "sorry for your loss" became his plastered slogan and at such a young age Stiles had mastered controlling his tears in public and giving a solemn handshake and a fake "thank you". But his nights were different. They were filled with tear soaked pillowcases and the sound of his father sobbing into a beer bottle at the dead hours of night. They were coated with the gasping breaths for reality to shake him from his dream world. That was really when the panic attacks started. His body could no longer handle shock, treating every little shock as tragic as his mothers dead. His heart would race and his veins would pump blood and nearly burst it out of his veins while his brain shut down and focused solely on the source of the panic attack. The breaths would come shorter and shorter and reality would seem distant and dull. His vision would shoot into darkness and sound would muffle, save his thumping heart. One time he couldn't wake from a panic attack, he spent days in the hospital as his body sought to recover. And the sad part was that attack was sparked by nothing more than his first kiss.

They were terrible. They were awful. And just when Stiles had thought he had conquered them, they would come back.

But that was his strength, they were a part of him. They reminded him of his mother, in the sickest way. Yet it was so much more than that. The panic attacks taught him to be stronger- stronger than the shock of the world and stronger than the pain that riddled his body.

In fact, Stiles was slightly surprised he didn't have a panic attack when Scott proclaimed his choice of Allison. He could feel his eyes burn and his heart race and sink, race and sink, race and sink, as it always did before the crashing panic attack. But he swallowed it, he was stronger than the damned attack and in the saddest sense he felt pride and his own strength, something that a werewolf bite could never grant him.

Stiles just shook his head, coming back to Derek's offer. "No." he repeated. "I don't want the bite."

Derek stood up and paced away from him, his dark boots tapping against the destroyed hardwood floors of his house. Stiles sat patiently on the stairs. His mind told him to look for an escape and his brain told him to run. But the young teen remained rooted on the stair case, staring at the creases in the back of Derek's jacket as the wolf walked away from him.

"You're lying." Derek finally said, his back still turned to Stiles. "You want it." I can feel your pulse. It's not jumping from fear, but from your lie.

Stiles flinched. That was the same thing Peter had told him. He couldn't help but let out a twitch of a smile at the edges of his lip. "Like uncle like nephew. Or better yet, like alpha like alpha. Or maybe even like homicidial maniac killer like-"

"What?" Derek interrupted sharply, spinning around to stare at the brunette who was busy listing off analogies.

"The original big bad wolf already offered this little piggy," Stiles gestured to himself and all of the skinny pork that hung off of his body, "The bite. And this little piggy cried no, no, no all the way home."

"Peter… wanted to give you the bite?" Derek stuttered out in confusion.

Stiles nodded. He remembered the teeth inches from his forearm as his body was begging for the bite. He could still feel the guilt as he pulled away at the last minute and stuttered out a weak no. "And obviously since I don't have a body or pelt you could mount on a wall, I didn't say yes."

"Why?" Erika interjected. The alpha and Stiles had completely forgotten Boyd, Erika and Isaac. They were gone in their minds and a look of surprise came across both of their faces. "Why did you refuse it?" She asked with wide eyes.

It felt too much like cannibalism? I prefer not to have my flesh nibbled on? I was afraid he might eat me? I like to spend my Friday nights in front of the glow of a computer screen and not being naked in the glow of the full moon? Stiles brain contemplated a hundred witty responses, but suddenly his throat felt dry and his voice felt weak. "I can't explain it." He muttered out. He thought of his father, at having to keep another secret. He thought of the inconvenience and more drama it would form in his already failing school schedule. He thought of hurting an innocent person. He thought of the impossibility of being with a normal girl, or Lydia. And Stiles realized, all he could think about is how the bite would affect others, it didn't even matter how it affected him. He didn't care about the power or the strength, because they couldn't' see how the bite could benefit anybody else. I suppose the bite is only meant for the selfish.

"Then at least try." Derek said. But Stiles just shook his head.

His humanity mattered to him and he didn't want the death of that to be from a little bite. "You wouldn't understand. You were born into it." He then gestured to the three newer wolves. "And neither would you guys. You did it for your selves. I can't do that."

Derek couldn't help but let out a small grin. Stiles had begun to realize what made him so vital and precious to any pack. The sole reason why he glued Scotts rag tag pack together- Stiles was selfless. He was loyal. He chose others over himself and never dared to think of himself ever, even when his life was in danger.

Whenever Allison or Scott would fight, Stiles would pass their messages or coddle their relationship back together. Whenever Scott was submerged under hours of homework Stiles would pull out his pencil and begin the werewolf's algebra, ignoring his own calculus work brooding on his desk. No matter the situation, Stiles completely isolated his own situation in the dark corner of his mind and focused solely on everyone else. He was the only reason Scott's pack survived, because without him the entire group would be encompassed in their own greed and personal desires.


	7. Chapter 7

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Scott gently nuzzled the corner of his badly shaven chin in the crest of Allison's collar bone. He buried his face, which soon became lost in the curls of her matted hair. She hugged him back, the two lovers joined in a deep embrace. The couple stood outside Allison's grand house. Scott's eyes stared up at the pillars and he could see the blinds in the upstairs window shifting from side to side. He gulped and squeezed Allison tighter in his arms. She looked up at him with a nervous face, but attempted to mask it over with calm. Her eyes darted to sides and she pouted her lips in before finally looking at the ground and breaking the hug. She carefully wound her fingers through Scotts and gave him one short look of confidence before they headed into her parents house.

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Derek couldn't help but nod and let out a tightened grin around the edges of his lips. Stiles refused the bite. His body, his pulse, they all screamed to want it. But his mind was different and saw the greed that was entangled with the very nature of being a werewolf.

It was that very nature that drove Peter to slay Derek's sister, in the coldest blood that family can be considered- he slaughtered his own niece simply to be Alpha.

And Derek could feel that very nature creep into his bones and flood his mind. He used Scott simply to become Alpha. He manipulated the dreams and the desires of the newfound teenage wolves simply for the greed of increasing his own strength. He wanted that power, he lusted for that strength, and Stiles was the entire opposite.

Derek could feel it beginning to consume his old placid beta nature. Everything seemed far more intense and his instincts screamed out over his mind. He wanted the largest pack; he wanted to turn everything that moved. It felt like everything was his, it should be his, that he had the rightful claim to everyone and everything. But seeing his uncle's mistake with Scott he fought against that, forcing back the nature of the alpha. But it still picked at the threads of his brain, the savoring taste of the new strength that came with every new addition. He was the leader, he felt in control.

It killed him to not see Scott even consider himself a part of Derek's pack. For the longest time every sighting of Scott caused Derek's inner wolf to howl in rage, to want to leap at the young boy and sink it's demanding claws into the boys chest and make him submit, make him accept Derek as his Alpha. Every time he saw the curly love struck boy Derek grew increasingly frustrated at the omega drifting from his pack. He wanted to pull him back, strap him down, overpower the boy and let him know where he stood.

However, over time, that want for the pack grew into frustration, and finally transitioned into hatred. The very sight of Scott with his arm wrapped around Allison's petite frame created tight knots in Derek's stomach- it made him sick. He found the boys choices disgusting, and grossly similar to his situation with Kate. He had believed he loved Kate, just as Scott believed he loved Allison. And the boy would not listen; he would rather sit there with his head buried in the sand of stupid love than face the reality.

And it was disgusting. And Derek came to realize he had no desire to have Scott fill a place in his pack. He was trouble, drama, and pathetically helpless when it came to matters than included an ounce of common sense or thought passed pushing Jackson into a wall.

It was then Derek began to notice Stiles, lingering in the background, walking several steps behind the adorned couple of Scott and Allison. He was rambling on, but his voice seemed to fly right past Scotts highly trained ears. And he knew it. Derek watched as the young boys face fell and he just nodded gently to himself. Stiles pace would slow down and Allison and Scott entered the school together, completely oblivious to what they left behind. Stiles then ran up to a red headed girl that Derek recognized as Lydia. She brushed him off, ignoring him with a whip of her hair and a degraded facial expression. Derek couldn't hide his surprise. Did she not know what he sacrificed? Did that girl not realize that Stiles bolted across the field, saved her life, risked his life, and left with Peter Hale just so that he could save her? Derek felt a low growl grow in his throat and his wolf tore at his mind, urging Derek to bolt and rip apart that hair that she was so proud of.

He looked back at Stiles who slumped into school alone. The bags under his eyes were thick and his walk was less jittery than normal. A strange feeling stemmed in Derek. He felt bad, he felt guilty, he felt responsible, and he felt sadness. There was no pity in his heart, but nothing less than wanting to help Stiles. He saw the kid unraveling and nobody there to sew up the loose threads. He saw him reaching his breaking point, and Scott too focused with Allison to notice. Then there was anger, that anger towards Scott again. But that feeling of pain for Stiles was more powerful and Derek held onto that feeling. He wanted to dart across the empty courtyard and tell the boy it wasn't his fault and that he was better than this. That he deserved better.

Then it dawned on Derek, that through it all Stiles was more of his pack than Scott. While Scott ran around with his head cut off, Stiles was busy researching anything to help the situation at hand. When Derek had the bullet lodged into his veins it was Stiles who was ready to act, Stiles who was ready to save him. When everything seemed to falter, it was Stiles who picked it all up. Inside Derek could feel the sense of satisfaction radiating off of his wolf at the very thought of Derek realizing Stiles pure potential and the strength in the young boy.

Stiles was a part of his pack.

And that urge to claim resurfaced in Derek's wolf. The next encounter at the school with Scott and Stiles, Derek had no other desire than to make Stiles accept him as his alpha, despite the boy being human. He wanted him to listen to him, follow his orders, under his control as a part of his pack. It took every fiber of Derek's respect for Stiles to not pounce on him and eventually Derek's logic won over, pushing the thoughts of claiming Stiles out of his mind. That time would come later.

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Stiles looked up at Derek, whose eyes at become distant. He glanced around to the other wolves, whose faces were all riddled with shock. Isaac softly shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He understood what it meant to be powerless, to be beaten and kicked down so many times that it felt hard to get back up. For him it was physical, but for Stiles it was mental. Isaacs's bruises eventually healed and his father eventually passed due to the Kanima. But there was no escape from Stiles own mind or his former best friend. So Isaac couldn't understand why he would refuse and he looked at Stiles with a complicated expression, one filled with pity and distress.

Boyd had felt the pain of being alone, banished to the loneliness of the back table in the cafeteria. Becoming a werewolf didn't give him confidence like it did Erika, it didn't break out a grand personality like Isaac, and it didn't free him from anything. But it gave him something. It made him unique, it made him capable. So to an extent, Boyd understood Stiles. Stiles was capable without the bite, he was unique without the bite.

Erika, like Isaac, was immensely confused by Stiles choice. She had known Stiles since he was young. He was a quirky kid, not popular and occasionally picked on, but he always held his head high. He had gotten shoved into the locker so many times that the locker had formed a dent to match his body. But he never fought back, never hated even the scum like Jackson. He took it, and Erika could never understand why he would put someone else above himself like that.

Stiles felt his focus draw back to the Alpha. "So what happens now?" He asked quietly. Are you going to kill me? Set me free? Or put me on a child leash?

Derek's eyes regained their intensity and he spun around and stared with his brow furrowed at Stiles. "I can't let you go home." Scott will know and he will just use it as an excuse to win you back over. He'll say he knew you would be fine, that I wouldn't harm a hair on your little shaved head. And I won't let you believe that.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. "I had figured as much."

Derek tossed a small phone in his direction. It skidded across the floor roughly and bounced into Stiles lap. The boy picked up and curiously shot Derek a look.

"Call your dad." Derek demanded. "Tell him you're sleeping at a friend, maybe Danny's or someone else. I don't need the police coming after me again."

"Well Danny's gay and I already tried convincing my father I was and that didn't go over well…"

Derek's eyes sunk down in confusion and he gave Stiles a shocked look. The younger teen continued on, "Apparently he doesn't believe that gay guys could find me attractive. Or maybe I'm just too straight and get too many ladies for him to believe it." Because I definitely bring home a different lady every night. Totally. Yeah, definitely. Ladies man all the way.

"Just call him." Isaac chimed in with a breath of annoyance.

Stiles looked numbly at the phone and dialed his father's digits. His fingers knew the number by heart and typed it in with ease, despite the nerves that caused the tips to shake slightly.

A drunken voice answered the phone. "H-ello?" A voice on the other end choked out.

Stiles took a deep breath at hearing his father's breathe. His face scrunched and he willed his tone to sound normal. "Dad?" He asked gently.

A loud hacking noise was heard over the other end. Stiles could practically smell the alcohol through the phone line. His face turned sour and his eyebrows scrunched together in pain from his father's voice. "Ah, Stiles" The voice hummed over the line.

This is my fault.

Stiles stared down at the floor, a sense of guilt filling his eyes. Ever since his father was fired- err, resigned, from sheriff because of Stiles he had taken to the bottle. Not aggressively when Stiles was around, he didn't want his son to feel any guiltier. But it didn't matter. Stiles saw it all. He saw his father asleep on the couch with tear soaked cheeks, shoes still firmly tied to his feet, and half a bottle of whiskey lingering on the floor near his head. He told Stiles it wasn't really his fault. But Stiles knew it was fault. His relationship with his dad was already terrible from all the secrets, but the job had taken their relationship to a new low.

This is all my fault.

Most teens kept secrets of a bad grade or maybe of a secret boyfriend or girlfriend. Not secrets of murderers and death and mythological creatures. And not from parents who slaved over papers and spent a thousand hours reading cases and having them make no sense. Stiles had to watch his father struggle to find no answer, grasping at any straws he saw when Stiles knew the whole truth. He watched the county berate him on the endless morals and the constant rising death toll in Beacon Hills. And Stiles knew his actions didn't help, but he didn't have a choice. He was at the crime scenes, at the murders, in the files, in the middle of everything. And having a restraining order against Jackson was far worse than even that. The county couldn't take it. And apparently neither could his father.

My fault, everything was my fault. He shouldn't have to go through this because of me. It's my fault.

"Sti-i-les?" The voice crackled over the other end, with a gorging hic cup in the middle.

"Still here Dad." Stiles responded. "Um, I just wanted to let you know that I won't be home for the next few days."

A small crash of a bottle rang in the background. Stiles heard his father swear out "Damnit" and a stream of cuss words. Stiles pictured his father mopping up the mess and Stiles waited patiently on the other end.

"Yeah, yeah that's fine." The sheriff responded distractedly. "Where will you be?"

"Just a friend's house. Working on a project." Stiles lied softly through the phone. He heard his father nod into the phone.

"That's nice." His father replied in his drunken stupor. Stiles face fell into a frown. Sometimes he wished his dad would care for the specifics, but Stiles knew he couldn't handle any more lies and just accepted whatever Stiles told him.

"Well, um," Stiles muttered. "I'll see you soon Dad?" Stiles phrased it as a question, he just wanted to his fathers voice respond to it. He glanced quickly up at Derek, scared at the reaction the alpha would have. But fortunately, Derek's face was stoic and still.

"Sure." The sheriff responded. One word answer. His father followed up with a sigh into the phone. Stiles wasn't there, but he could feel the phone reek of alcohol.

"Bye, then, I guess." Stiles said, his hand trembled while holding the phone. His thumb reached to hang up the phone, but he couldn't quite hit the button from his shaking.

"Oh!" His dad shouted over the phone. Stiles hand whipped the phone up to his ear and pressed the phone even harder against his head. "What?"

"Scott called the home phone a few minutes ago, said you were in some kind of trouble"

Stiles heard his heart sunk for the second time that day. He looked around at the werewolves looming over him; Derek's eyes even flashed a dangerous red, warning him to stay silent. "Nope." Stiles said with what confidence he could muster. "No trouble with me." You know me Dad, never any trouble.

"You sure?" His dad asked "Scott sounded pretty serious and worried. Do you need me to come get you or anything?'

Scott- Dragging his dad further and further into the hell that was werewolf drama. Stiles ground his teeth together. "Don't worry dad. I'm fine." Stiles replied bitterly, his thoughts burning with disappointment in Scott. How dare he contact his father? All Stiles wanted for his Dad to be at peace, not worried about Stiles, not worried about werewolves, and not worried about Stiles being surrounded by werewolves. His Dad didn't need that and Scott had no place to tell him anything anymore.

This is Scotts fault- No. No. It's not. It's not his father, not his fault. He wouldn't choose this for my father or for me.

"If you say so." Stiles briefly heard his father mutter out 'I'm here if you need me' under the static of the phone line.

There was an awkward moment of still silence on the phone line. Stiles gulped, feeling another welling of tears in his eyes that he ignored. His father grunted on the other line and followed with an "Uh, okay. Bye Stiles."

"Bye" Stiles responded.

"I lov-"Stiles started by was interrupted by the harsh click of the phone line, followed by the cruel monotonous beeping on the dial tone.

He held onto the phone tightly in his hand and a blank look overcame his face. He took a short breath and hung up the phone. He slid the phone back over to Derek, not even daring to look up and make eye contact with the wolf.

My fault.

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All the wolves held their tongues and wished they didn't have quite as keen of hearing as they really did. Derek rubbed his fingers against his forehead, eager to change the subject to something less tense and awkward. "For now you'll just have to stay upstairs. At least until I figure out what to do…"

Stiles looked up, shaken out of the daze the depressing phone call had left him in. "Am I going to be in that five star hotel you call your dingy bathroom again? Because I had a really great stay there last time. Great views and all that…"

Derek shot him a look to tone down the sarcasm.

"And what do you mean until you figure out what to do? You did all of this and didn't even have a plan for after?" Stiles shouted, his tone quickly escalating as Derek's words finally dawning on him. "Let's just ruin Stiles life and then, hey, let's just wing it after that! No big deal." Stiles hands flew up with wild gestures and an angry tone.

"You know damn well it's not like that." Derek replied, his voice resorting to a low growl.

Stiles tongue circled the inside of his lower lip before he responded. "No, but there's something more to this that you aren't telling me."

"There's always something you're not being told."

Stiles paused and pulled down on his upper lip with his teeth. "I deserve to know whatever it is."

Derek turned his head in frustration and began to rub the back of his neck, hunching over and letting out an exhausted sigh. "Tomorrow."

"No. Now." Stiles said intensely. Stiles regained his composure and stood up and tried to show no fear. And his heart beat stayed steady, much to werewolf's surprise.

Another frustrated groan escaped Derek's tightened lips. "And I'm saying tomorrow."

Stiles face turned to one of anger; he didn't appreciate things being kept from him, especially after the fiasco less than an hour ago. He gritted his teeth and cross his arms, leaning back against his heels.

"Look," Derek said with a gentler tone, "You've been through enough today. I'm sending Erika and Boyd home and you're going to go upstairs." It sounded more like an order than anything else.

"I'm not tired. I can handle it, I want to know."

"Shut up Stiles." Derek was near pleading. "Trust me on this, you'll want a night to not have to think about this."

"Trust you?" Stiles responded, dripping with sass. "After everything today I don't think I'd trust you with a trust fall or-"

"Enough!" Derek shouted. "I'm doing this for you. I'm trying to save you!" The alpha responded, his eyes widening.

Stiles eyes mimicked the widening. He had never heard Derek so angry, so serious, and so passionate about anything. It scared him, and in a weird way made him feel special. But slightly more terrified and in response took a step back, away from Derek.

"For once," Derek continued after calming down. "Just listen to me."

"Tomorrow, then. Bright and early." Stiles said, fighting every teenage stereotype that told him to sleep in on the weekends. And I fully expect the talk over pancakes and eggs if you're going to make me wait.

Finally Derek thought stiffly. He gestured up the stairs and Stiles began to ascend them and the alpha followed closely behind.

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Trust me. Those words rang in Stiles head as he climbed up the creaking stairs. It was weird, just plain weird, coming from Derek. Sure, the werewolf had asked the pair of him and Scott to trust him before. But he never said it with such a pleading look in his eyes. He didn't just want Stiles to trust him, he needed him to. And it didn't seem to be for his sake… it was for mine.

"Can I just say one more thing?" Stiles asked as they stood outside the dingy room, lightly furnished with an old bed that was possibly crawling with bed bugs.

"It wouldn't matter if I said no, you'd say it anyways." Derek remarked smartly. Stiles puckered in his lips and nodded in agreement.

"I could've dropped you in that pool." Stiles said, holding his breath after he said it.

Derek's brow creased in confusion. "What?"

"You didn't fight the Kanima and even if we had gotten out you wouldn't have been in any position to fight him. I didn't need to keep you alive." Maybe things would have been easier if I had dropped you. Erika, Boyd, and Isaac wouldn't be werewolves, the hunters wouldn't have had to call in reinforcements… Maybe things would have been easier without you. But they wouldn't be better.

"What are you saying?" Derek questioned back as his mind stumbled back to the memories of that cold night in the pool.

"But I didn't drop you. I kept treading. I treaded that damn water even if killed me."

Derek looked at the younger teen with silence and confusion.

"I didn't want any favor from you. Not then and not in the future. I didn't need you to save me; I just couldn't let you drown.' Stiles said. I'm not like everybody else, I don't want an advantage, a favor, a giant owe you one slip, or anything like that. It wasn't a safety net- I guess it was just me being human.

Derek opened his mouth to reply but Stiles held up his hand. "Believe it or not, I just didn't want you to die. I'm sick of death, I just don't want any one else to get hurt."

Stiles shook his head, not quite sure why he was telling this all to Derek. It had been hanging on his conscious, ever since the werewolf had said that Stiles didn't trust him and he didn't trust Stiles. Stiles trusted him and after everything, it killed him to know that Derek didn't trust him back.

"I just couldn't let you die."

Derek stood there, completely speechless. His jaw stayed locked and his eyes cast on Stiles brown eyes- they had never looked more serious and meaningful. They spoke volumes to Derek and the alpha couldn't help but feel the rush of guilt from telling Stiles he didn't trust him. He trusted that boy, he trusted him with his life and everything more. But admitting that in the pool, if drowning didn't kill him- admitting it certainly would have.

Stiles inhaled a large gulp of air before slightly nodding his head and opening the door into the room. Honestly, he hadn't expected a response from Derek. But it still disappointed him at the silence that Derek produced. He had hoped for something more.

Derek remembered that helpless feeling in the pool. That lack of limbs feeling that corrupted his body. He had felt pure weakness for the first time that night and never before had he needed to rely fully on someone else. He had to trust Stiles not to let him go, to sink under several feet and succumb to the water filling his lungs. Derek Hale was not a trusting person. The last person he trusted with even an ounce had ended up slaying his entire family in a burning fire. It had been a longtime sense he trusted anybody.

And when Stiles let him go, Derek couldn't help but feel betrayed. He had thought Stiles worthy of that trust, that precious, precious trust. He tried desperately to convince Stiles to not let him down, telling the boy how much he needed him, and how he was the only one that could fight the kanima. And as he fell to the bottom of the pool he was surprised. None of that was enough for Stiles it seemed.

And then he felt the warm arms wrap around him as Derek peeled open his eyes through the chlorine and saw that soaking track suit descend to grab him. That feeling of relief, that was trust- he realized later. He had felt trusting and he had felt safe in Stiles arms.

Stiles kept him alive, even when the own boys strength was fading in the deep end of the pool. He could feel Stiles breathing go heavy on his neck and his kicks flail and fail to push any water. Part of Derek wanting to tell him just to let go, but he knew that after Stiles came back after him, he wouldn't let go again.

And Stiles didn't even care if it was about the Kanima. He just couldn't let Derek die.

Derek stood outside of the closed door now, still staring at the spot that Stiles was moments before. Not even when his family was alive had he felt that trust.

Not even when there was peace had anybody been willing to risk their life. There had always been something to gain. When Scott saved Derek it was for help defeating the Alpha, help controlling his wolf, or help training to fight. Whenever Peter or Laura saved him it was because without them, their own power would be decreased. Whenever Kate had even talked to him, it wasn't trusting, it was just for information. He had never felt that trust, that ability of someone to die for someone else, full knowing they would gain nothing.

The unspoken words of 'Thank you' hung on Derek's tongue as he fiddled with the door knob. He had never thanked Stiles for that night.

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As soon as the door opened Derek caught a large whiff of Stiles scent which had filled to every corner of the room. The scent hit Derek hard, almost causing him to wince. It's not that it smelled bad, quite the opposite. It smelled pure, it smelled fresh. But it also smelt wrong.

Stiles head shot around, his eyes shocked and wide. He had his pants tightly cocooned around his waist. But his shirt was tossed limply on the bedside. His bare chest and stomach lingered in the pale light that shone dimly through the scratched windows.

A bright red hue immediately shot to his cheeks as he lunged for the shirt resting on the bed.

Derek stared at the shirtless figure, the thank you quickly flying off of his brain. Bruises dotted nearly every inch of the boys skin.

His flesh took on a purplish hue in some spots and a darkened, sickly yellow on the boarders. On his back was one large bruise, nearly covering an entire shoulder blade. Derek could tell it was swollen and nearly black in color. Large scratches decorated the other shoulder blade and both of his arms had tender and striking spots. A decent sized scar was stretched across his back.

Stiles was frantically trying to position his head through the shirt hole, and just as his fuzzy head peaked out over the entrance a rough hand yanked the shirt off and gripped Stiles tightly by the wrist.

"What the hell is this?"

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, who was eying his body with a slightly amount of disgust. The pink hue on Stiles face soon turned to shame. "What is what?" He asked, trying to sound stupid and innocent to the answer.

Derek's hand still gripped Stiles wrist firmly, preventing the boy from moving or spinning away. Derek felt Stiles pulse quicken and speed up at the touch and the lie. "The bruises."

Stiles shook his head dismissively and rolled his eyes. "They're nothing."

He reached forward for his shirt, yanking his wrist out of Derek's grasp and attempted to grab the shirt crumpled in a pile on the floor. Without hesitation Derek gripped the boys shoulder and spun Stiles around to face him. "Nothing doesn't produce bruises like that."

"Lacrosse." Stiles lied. But Derek didn't even need to tell the boy that he knew he was lying, it was written in guilt across every feature of Stiles pale face.

"You're a damn bench warmer." Derek growled out. He felt his claws start to extend from his fingers and pierce the edges of Stiles skins. He took a few short breaths to try and calm his frustration and anger at the teen. "Who are these from?"

"Nobody!" Stiles exclaimed.

Derek let out a low growl and gripped Stiles shoulders tighter and pushed backwards, slamming the teen into the wall. Stiles let out a small moan as the wall pushed roughly against his bruises. His eyelids sunk down into his sockets as his eyes squished together from the impact. His neck twisted dup in pain and he gritted his teeth in pain, sucking in air harshly. Derek pinned him roughly against the wall further still, unaware of the pain that stung from Stiles bruise. Stiles let out another small cry from pain as the force stabbed all the way to his bones.

The smell of fear and pain rushed off of Stiles skin and intoxicated the room with a sickening odor. It wormed up to Derek's nose, causing him to tighten his hands. The claws sunk into pale skin which emitted another painful groan from Stiles.

Derek heard the small yelp and immediately backed up, releasing his tense grip on the boys' shoulders. He nearly leapt across the room as he heard the small moan that passed Stiles lip from the relief of release. Stile sunk down to his knees as his hand tried to coddle the pain from the bruise. His breath was harsh and with every breath his chest sunk in farther and farther. Derek let out a few gasping breathes, never taking his eyes off of the brunette.

It stung. It burned. Stiles had taken such care to not touch anything, to not lean up against the wall, to change in the showers, to avoid even touching the bruises. He wanted to pretend they didn't exist, despite the inconvenience they caused.

But they were so tender and the large one on his shoulder blade continued to ache even after Derek released his grip. Frustration began to well up inside of Stiles.

"They're from you! And Scott! And Jackson!" Stiles began to shout as the pain crept up his body. "And every damn one of you super powered creatures that continually push me into freaking walls and punch me in the damn arm over and over again."

Derek stared at the boy; he had never heard Stiles yell with such furiosity and raw anger.

"Not all of us heal with a mama's kiss and a band aid!" He screamed out. Derek took another step back. Some of us are human. "We don't all have rapid healing and a tolerance for pain!"

Guilt was riddled across Derek's face as he saw Stiles face react and tense up once again from the stinging touch of the bruise.

Derek stared exasperated at the ground. He had remembered pushing Stiles down a few times, nudging him roughly as he passed him, hell, he even slammed his head into a steering wheel. But he never thought anything of it, he grew up around werewolves and it was natural for him to do that. He remembered Erika telling him that she threw him in the dumpster and injury like that would just take a few minutes to heal. Even earlier that day Isaac punched him in the face and Derek didn't think that much of it. Until now.

Until he saw the bloodied and bruised mess that Stiles hid under his shirt and the rage he kept bottled up as well. He had been hurting. And Derek and his friends had been the ones to do it. Even Scott, who would playfully punch Stiles in the arm, would never know the true damage his wolf strength would cause his best friend. And Jackson- well, Jackson even before the werewolf business occurred he was like that. But Derek couldn't control either of them. The only thing he could do was control his own actions, and right now every bruise on Stiles half naked body screamed of guilt.

Stiles caught his breath and scooted away from the wall, regaining his standing pose. His breathing relaxed slightly, but his muscles were still flexed and rigid under flushed skin. His eyes tensed and he looked at Derek. He muttered a gentle "I'm sorry…"

Derek shook his head. "You have no reason to be. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Another tense silence filled the room as Stiles gave the werewolf an accepting look. Derek quietly took his leave from the room, softly closing the door behind him. He took one last look at Stiles, whose knees were propped up with his arms wrapped around them and his head was ready to sink down into the space over top his knees.

Stiles collapsed into a weak position and stared up at the decaying ceiling and gently rubbed his bruise across his back. So many thoughts- he wasn't going to be sleeping much.

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	8. Chapter 8

Slight gore warning, so be prepared.

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"I lov-"Stiles started by was interrupted by the harsh click of the phone line, followed by the cruel monotonous beeping on the dial tone.

He held onto the phone tightly in his hand and a blank look overcame his face. He took a short breath and hung up the phone. He slid the phone back over to Derek, not even daring to look up and make eye contact with the wolf.

My fault.

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"You're pathetic"

Every word made the teen flinch under the dull heat of the blanket.

"You're a disgrace"

Stiles heard his voice ring out and scream the words inside of his head.

"Why did I have to raise you?'

All he could see in the lull of his nightmare was the bottle clasped in his father's hand, pointed angrily at him with whisky gushing out the open end.

"Hyperactive bastard."

Sweat clung to the edges of his skin and dotted the lining of the sheets, coating the linens in a damp overhand that cocooned around the edges of Stiles body.

"You killed your mother. You're the reason I'm alone. The screw up of a son who can't keep his nose out of other peoples business."

Stiles body twitched violently at the stinging force of the words in his dream.

"I hate you."

The wrinkles around his fathers eyes never seemed more truthful as the darting eyes laced inside glared into Stiles mind eye. Every ounce of frustration, every ounce of hatred poured out into the look and Stiles felt the back of his throat fill up with water, as if the vomit was preparing itself. His lips shifted against the edges of his teeth, trying to hold back tears, and the teen chew on the edge lightly. His brown eyes down casted to the floor.

The feeling of guilt twisted his insides and Stiles looked up at his father with the words of an apology basking on his tongue. But that wouldn't cut it. No, a simple sorry would mean nothing to his father at this point. He wanted to tell him everything, but as Stiles gazed at his father's drunken stupor he held back. It would only seem crazy. Only seem that Stiles was making up things, spitting in his fathers face.

And he couldn't lie. He was damn sick of those lies that burnt on his lips and stung against the inside of his stomach. For fear of lying, or of telling the truth, Stiles accepted the silence that had come to form between his father and him.

Stiles looked back up at his father. The former sheriffs eyes were sunken in and the wrinkles dug deep into the crevices of his face, lining every corner of the old mans face with worry and pain. His cheeks had fallen from a lack of any joy or smiles in the past months. His forehead was sunk and hung over his bushed brows, which took a slightly grey hue.

The corner of his lips sagged as well, tracing a constant frown across the sheriff's face. Stiles couldn't remember what his father's laughter sounded like. Stiles eyes fell down to his father's mouth.

And suddenly there were fangs.

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Derek lay exhausted on his rotting couch, running his hands through his thick black hair for what felt like the hundredth time. He let out a harsh sigh and sprung up into a sitting position, sitting his elbow against his knees and resting his head against his head. What am I going to do? He thought darkly, pressing his eyes together coldly.

Another exasperated sigh escaped his lips and the wolf stared up at the ceiling. Bits and flecks of ceiling dust crumbled down and drifted slowly to the floor. Derek couldn't help but think of being stuck in this rotting house for the rest of his life. That was not what he wanted, for him or his pack.

Pack…He thought dismally. The three new obnoxious teenagers flashed into his mind. He scoffed- some pack they were. Not only were they still going through human puberty, but throw in werewolf puberty and there weren't words to describe the disaster and confusion in their minds and bodies. Scott's shaggy head also reared into Derek's vision, causing a sickening pit in the stomach of the alpha. Traitor. Ungrateful. Dumb and Love struck. Derek couldn't help but think that maybe he didn't do this all for Stiles; maybe he really just wanted to punish Scott. He wanted to see him suffer for leaving the pack. He wanted him to come crawling back to the pack. He wanted Scott to pay.

But his wolf nudged at the corner of Derek's mind, refusing the alpha to think darkly on one of his own. He did this for Stiles.

Derek wasn't the kind of person who would do something for another person without a reward or something to gain. He wouldn't have wasted his energy to hold Stiles up in that pool if the situation was reversed. He had gone through too much, had too much to revenge for, that he couldn't let go for another person. And every bit of that suffering and guilt held onto his consciousness.

The quirky teen popped into his mind, and the word of pack drifted alongside it. He had been through a lot with Stiles, all of the fights and escapes that bordered on the realm of death. He owed the teen his life.

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His father had teeth. Not dentures, not pearly whites that a dentist would be proud of- oh no, these were fangs, peering over the crusted lip of the sheriff.

My, what big teeth you have. Stiles couldn't help but think as he stared dumfounded at the fangs. His eyes traveled up to meet his father's eyes, which glowed a harsh red. Oh geez, what red eyes you have too…

And suddenly his father lunged at Stiles. Still shocked, Stiles stayed still and took the force of the impact as the figure collided with him, shoving the teen down to the ground with a loud smash. Stiles let out a groan, feeling the bruises on his back collide with French stone that surrounded Lydia's pool. Every one was gone now, except him and his father.

Stiles let out a small whimper in the words of "Dad?"

The question was received with a low growl and a deep slash in the chest as the wolf tore away the first layer of flesh. Stiles picked his head off of the cold stones for a moment to see the blood trickle of his body. Shit, what sharp claws you have.

Panicked at the sight of his blood, Stiles used his strength to flip his body into a roll while squirming all of his body parts in a spasm to break free of the wolves hold. He shot up and immediately felt dizzy as the blood sunk from his head. "Oh God" he muttered, looking up to meet the figure in the shadows. Blood- his blood- dripped and splashed quietly onto the pool gutter and drained slowly into the chlorinated water, dying the pool a light red. Another low growl filled the air.

Run

Stiles didn't need his brain to tell him that as he sprinted through the deck and slammed through the glass doors that lead to Lydia's living room. His breathing became heavy and he wanted nothing but to stop and get his inhaler, but his feet kept moving. He wasn't sure where he was going; he had only been to Lydia's house once. But his feet seemed to know the way and he could feel Lydia's presence in the room beckoning him. A sharp howl bit through the crisp night and Stiles felt his heart leap.

Stiles flew up the stairs, bounding the steps three at a time and turned to left, standing in front of a door with a present "Do Not Disturb" sign and flowers spelling out the name "Lydia".

He twisted the golden knob on her door, but it jolted back. He jiggled it several more times, but the door did not budge from the lock.

Frantically, Stiles looked down the stairs, prepared to see the creature that was his father ascending them with claws ready to rip his throat out. He was not mistaken as a figure, now in a humanlike form, slowly climbed up the stair case. Each step caused a loud creak against the stair boards and Stiles fears began to surround him of how he might die.

He continued to shake the doorknob, now resorting to running his shoulder against the door and felt the hinges squeak slightly. Another ramming session and the door completely shattered and collapsed, taking Stiles down with it from the force of his assault.

Stiles head immediately whipped around and didn't see the intruder, but that didn't stop the teen from quickly standing up, his legs sliding awkwardly over the shattered door pieces, and bolting in the opposite direction.

Stiles held his head back, searching for any sign of the wolf, listening for any low growl or angry pounce, but the only sound he heard was the pounding of his own feet and gasping of his own lungs.

He turned his head back to see where he was a running. And suddenly he was in a field.

A field crisp with flowers wilted and dyed colors of sadness. A field layered with wheat and tall grass that brushed against the edges of Stiles knees and stabbed with thorn like leaves against the wholes in his jeans. A field layered with blood that seeped down into the soil and coated over every piece of life. Stiles glanced down at his hands and found them too reeking of iron and dripping with that precious crimson liquid. He looked back up, with eyes wide in fear.

It was a field and Peter Hale stood in the middle.

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Derek could hear the steady chirping of the crickets that had nested outside of the window basin. He could hear the owl softly hooting in the distance. And he could hear Stiles heartbeat, gently thumping into his ears against the grain of the floorboards.

At least it was gentle for a time. The beating was calm when night first fell. But it picked up rapidly, his heart pounded louder and louder and Derek could hear the boys breathing get heavier and heavier.

The alpha sat up with a start when he first heard it increase. His head whipped around the room anxiously, scared and searching for intruders, but only finding Stiles rapid heartbeat.

Derek tried to ignore it, but soon the cricket's noise faded away, replaced by the sole sound of Stiles heartbeat. It rang through Derek's ears, getting louder and louder, faster and faster. Derek could practically hear the young boy's rib cage shaking, eager to explode and release the hearts torment upon the frail body.

He was ready to push of the noise as nothing more than a dirty dream, speeding up in that sexual desire that was so abundant in teenage boys. For a split second Derek wondered who it was about- Probably that Lydia girl, the one with the pretty hair and overly colored lips. He shook his head and tried to convince himself that he didn't care.

But it kept getting worse. The beat got louder and louder, a symphony of frantic drums banging in the hollows of Derek's mind. It got quicker and quicker, racing from one side of his brain to the other.

And then Derek swore he heard a small yelp escape the teen's lips from the upper floor. In the dead silence that filled the night it rang like a scream in his ears. Derek's curiosity and need to protect overwhelmed him as he silently climbed his steps, trying to avoid the creaking spots just incase it was nothing.

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Peter gently taped his china and gave Stiles a fake smile that was plastered from ear to ear. "It's good to see you again Stiles." His voice cooed across the meadow.

Stiles took several steps back. His neck dared him to glance behind, to see what became of his father and wolf, but that thought quickly fled his mind as Peter pointed at something in the brush near Stiles. Hesitantly, Stiles leaned over to glance at the spot.

Red hair was matted and pulled apart, tossed carelessly overtop of a flower bed and weed patch. There were several slits across the neck that nearly separated the bloodied head from the crumpled body. The body was deformed, smashed and torn away of clothing and skin. The bones and ligaments were plucked apart and an organ hung on the edge of a chiffon skirt. It was a shattered form, but Stiles could still recognize her.

The urge to vomit overwhelmed his senses and a strong upheaval unleashed from his stomach. Stiles leaned over and spewed, narrowly missing throwing up on the body.

His hands sunk to the tops of his knees, trying to hold himself up after the vomit ejected from his body. His vision became blurred and the longer he looked at the corpse the sicker it made him. He turned his head away; a small tear began to sting in the corner of his eyes.

"You were too late." Peter said with his voice heavy with mock sympathy.

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Derek resisted the urge to knock on the door, so he gently creaked it open. Stiles was sprawled out under the thin cover of a blanket. Derek shook his head, cursing his own paranoia. Until he saw the figure twitch under the blanket. Stiles left leg jerked up and his right arm shook violently. The body twisted under the cool midnight breeze and rolled into a fetal position.

The boys breathing became insanely heavy, gasping for air and finding none to inhale. Every muscle began to shake and Derek saw the boys hand move towards his head. Small groans escaped the teen's lips as his muscles tightened and constricted, sending what looked to be a wave of pain through the pale body.

"You're helpless." Peter mocked in Stiles mind. The elder man advanced towards him. Stiles was petrified and disgusted. Without a slight hesitation the man dug his finger into the chest of Stiles, plunging it into the wound that his father had created. He wormed his finger into the whole, his claw harshly picking at the remains of bones in the way.

Stiles body began to scream and Derek frantically rushed to his side. "Stiles!" He shouted, first out of confusion. But he continued to scream the name out of anger, frustration, and fear. The boy gave no response.

"Pathetic" Peter grumbled out as Stiles moaned, feeling the fingers slip up on the inside of his body, pushing up harder against the boned lining around his human heart. Blood poured out and rushed over Peters hand and trailed down Stiles body. Stile stared petrified at the finger rooted in his chest.

Derek fiercely gripped the corners of Stiles shoulders, shaking them violently, urging the teen to wake up and ignoring any bruises. This was a nightmare. This was not a dream or a sleepless night, this was a nightmare. Stiles body continued to spasm and the boy let out a several low groans and gasped for air as though a fish out of water. He swallowed large gulps of air, but it didn't seem to make it to his lungs as his face tightened and his chest inflamed with a scream building.

"You can't save anyone." Peter gave a coy smile. His finger wiggled past the first rib bone, and the softest touch caused a snapping sensation in Stiles chest. Stiles couldn't help but let out a scream from the pain as the bone stuck out. Soon Peter's entire fist had descended into Stiles chest, worming its way towards his heart. Stiles kept his eyes slammed closed, trying to bind in the pain, his eyes squeezed tightly shut but he still felt the ripping sensation of his flesh, the breaking of his rib cage, and the pain that shot down every cell of his body.

"Wake up Stiles!" Derek cried out. He let out a sharp howl out of reflex. The call of an alpha was normally enough to calm any pack member down. Except for the human one who stood tensely shaking in Derek's arms.

"You can't do anything." The hand broke through the entire rib cage and his fingers laced around Stiles rapidly beating heart. Stiles gasped, opening his pressed eyes for a split second. He looked at his attacked, expecting Peters mocking face, but was instead met with one more familiar. Scott stared back him with harsh yellow eyes and a sickening grin on his face.

Derek slammed the twitching figure up against the wall, hoping the pain and shock would wake the boy up, but he continued to spasm violently and let out a built up scream. His hands immediately went towards his chest, clutching uselessly at the bare skin. Panicked hands griped at the flesh of his chest and Stiles began yanking and clawing at his own skin.

Derek stared at the boy; realizing yelling was doing nothing for him. He tossed the boy back down against the bed and gripped the edges of his wrist. Stiles had begun to claw at his chest cavity, ripping away the layer of flesh and causing blood to spill out. Derek pressed the hands down against the bed and looked down over top of the boy with wide eyes.

"Stiles wake up," he said softer than before. He let out a few soft breathes and tried to force his pulse to calm down. "You need to wake up."

"Useless." Scott hands gripped tightly around the heart and squeezed slightly, sending Stiles into an even more panicked state. His breathes quickened with constant gasping and his finger tips grew numb and flailed at his sides. Short tears fell from his eyes and the warm sensation of blood trailed down his chest.

And the pain. Stiles couldn't even open his eyes to see his attacker any more. He had hoped the pain would grow numb, but with each disturbing crack of his ribs the pain increased, sending hot flares down his spine and causing his heart to burn, burn. His heart screamed out with pain, rearing violent flames and waves of stinging pain up and down Stiles body.

"Wake up" Derek tried to sound as convincing and confident as he could.

"Wake up" The voice whispered into his dream. Stiles felt the hands around his heart collapse in, literally squeezing the life out of Stiles.

"God damnit Stiles!" Derek said quickly as the teen began to thrash under him, kicking and squirming away with all of his energy. "Wake up!"

"Stiles," The voice cooed again, this time managing to catch Stiles attention though in the midst of death. "Wake up"

Stiles didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see his father, or Peter, or Scott, or any one else standing in that field. He didn't' want to see anything more. He didn't want to look up at the mechanic lying dead in the field next to Lydia's body. Then he thought, if he died here, at least it would be next to Lydia.

But the voice wouldn't let that happen and this time it shouted in a harsher voice. "WAKE UP"

His eyes opened with a jolt, fully expecting to see Scott, but were instead met with the glowing red eyes of Derek Hale.

Stiles felt the weight of Derek pressing down on his wrists and the werewolf was staring into his eyes with confidence. The younger teen began to thrash under Derek's grasp, desperately trying to get free. Is this still the dream? Stiles asked himself frantically.

"Calm down!" Derek said with relief from Stiles opening his eyes. But the boy began to try and break free, still fully conscious. "It's just me."

Stiles breathing slowed down slightly, but not before he managed to slip his skinny wrists out from under Derek's grasp and pound them into the werewolf's chest in an effort to get him off.

Although I probably wouldn't be thinking this was a dream if this was actually a dream. Stiles brain thought. Derek clasped his warm hands around Stiles wrists, pressing them together and the teen stopped moving violently. Derek shot him a demanding look, arching his brown slightly and widening his eyes "Calm. Down."

And Stiles did. His heart beat descended to a normal level and his eyes were blinking at regular intervals, not intensely gaping open or deadly closed.

"You okay?" Derek asked the teen as he slowly removed Stiles wrists from his grasp. The teen nodded, still breathing heavy.

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There was an awkward pause of silence, neither man sure of what to say to break it. Stiles wound up the courage and quietly muttered, "It was just a nightmare." He took a deep breath, regaining his oxygen levels "But thank you."

Derek looked down at the teen and nodded slightly. He wanted to ask the teen what it was about. How often he had been having these. He anted Stiles to be able to tell him these things and it seemed that Stiles needed to tell someone them as well. But Derek knew it wouldn't be to him, and certainly not now.

Derek stood up off the bedside and prepared to go downstairs, hoping Stiles would fall into the same dreamless sleep that he had been lulled by for weeks.

"Wait" Stiles said.

The alpha turned around, his brow slightly raised.

"It's morning now."

"What?"

"It's morning." Stiles signaled to the dull alarm clock at his side which showed a dingy 4 o'clock in red lighting.

"Are you serious?" Derek asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Stiles nodded rapidly. "The sun is even out."

Derek looked out and saw a hint of pink lighting the edges of the horizon. "You just had a nightmare and now you want to discuss this?"

"Let's be honest here," Stiles said, "I'm not going to be getting any more sleep tonight."

A low growl mixed with sigh emerged from Derek's lips as he wrung his neck in frustration.

Stiles sat there patiently waiting, moving up to cross legged on the bed and stared at Derek intensely with his large brown eyes. Oh, how Derek hated that look. It wasn't whimpering, it wasn't pouting, and it certainly wasn't demanding. But it was convincing.

He didn't want to do this moments after he felt Stiles practically dying from a nightmare. But if Stiles was certain he was up for it, now was just as good of a time as any.

"Fine," Derek shot back. He had no idea where to start and right on cue Stiles asked him a question.

"So what is going on exactly?" He rubbed his tongue on the upper ring of his teeth as he waited for an answer.

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	9. Chapter 9

That was a loaded question. It was loaded with sadness and the things that Derek had tried so hard to shelter Stiles from. He already tore Stiles from Scott, but he didn't want to tear him away from anything else. It killed him; it really did, to see the boy suffer in confusion and sadness. Whenever there was something Stiles didn't know, didn't understand, he would look it up and research it until he understood every last detail of it. Not knowing, that sick state of ignorance, was Stiles largest pain. And as Derek looked at the brown beady eyes that stared up for an answer, Derek shook his head, giving in.

Stiles scooted across the bed and Derek sat down gently next to him. His eyes slowly rolled around his head and he pressed his fingertips to his sweating brow. Sweating. Derek thought with disgust as he felt the damp layer that coated over his skin. Why the hell am I sweating from this?

And as Derek looked across the bed at Stiles he knew why. He was afraid. The big bad wolf, leaping from roof tops and jumping before bullets and dodging paralytic Kanima toxins and standing down Argent hunter glares, was afraid. He didn't want to break the kid. He didn't want to tell him all the problems Stiles was causing; he didn't want Stiles to believe anything was his fault. None of it was.

"Is there like a magic word you're waiting for to start?" Stiles interrupted through the silence. The patience was leaving him, he was desperate for answer. Stiles stared hard at the wolf. He tried to ignore how Derek looked at him, how much the wolf looked in pain to open his mouth.

Derek shot him a brief look of annoyance. Part of him wondered why he cared this much. Why his wolf scraped at the edges of his mind every time he saw that stupid grin on his face. But Peter's wolf had sensed something in Stiles and that same feeling sprung up in Derek. It was the way he put others ahead of himself, his determination, his loyalty, and all those things that appealed to the pack. But it was scent that drove Derek crazy. So close to his, coated in his scent, especially sitting here in his sheets, Derek could smell himself on Stiles. He could smell himself on all of his wolves, even in Scott as the force of an Alpha flowed through his veins. But under Stiles was the scent of a human. So close to the scent of the werewolf, but corrupted with the putrid stinging scent of humans.

"Seriously," Stiles started again, "Whatever you're going to say, just say it. I can handle it."

"You're in a lot of danger Stiles." Derek began.

Stiles coyly rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that new information. Really, I had no idea." All the werewolf fights and bruises weren't obvious enough.

"Then why do you do this? Why do you let yourself be put in harms way? You're not a werewolf or a hunter, this isn't your battle."

Stiles sat in a moment of silence. Why. Why do I do this? Why do I, the human, even involve myself?

"Is it because of Scott?" Derek asked, looking into Stiles eyes and feeling his heart rate rocket up at the name.

Yes. It was Scotts romp through the woods that brought the crushing reality of mythical creatures called werewolves into Stiles lives. And it was for Scott that he stayed through all the fights. Stiles fidgeting on the bed, enough of a response for Derek.

But it was more than just Scott. Stiles hated the moment he found out the grand secret that werewolves existed. This massive secret, kept hidden, lurking right under the worlds nose. He wanted to know more about this world, even if he was just an outsider looking in.

And he couldn't go back. He could never go back. He could never forget werewolves, and he didn't want to. He didn't ever want to live in ignorance of the world.

Why do I do this?

For myself. At first it was for Scott. But gradually, this became the one thing that made him different. He was the sole human in the group, and Matt could make as many werewolf bitch comments as he wanted, but Stiles enjoyed the drama, the action- just being a part of it. He didn't want to find himself left out again and again.

But instead of the truth he came up with a sarcastic response- that was always better than the truth and safer too. "Unlike other teenage boys I prefer chasing werewolves, not watching porn or going to crazy parties."

Derek couldn't help as a small smile peaked at the edges of his lips. There was always more going on in that humans head than he would ever say, always laced hidden under the blanket of sarcasm.

"And unlike other teenage boys," Derek mimicked with a smart expression, "You enjoy hanging out with werewolves but not actually being one."

"It makes me stand out as an individual." Stiles replied. I should put that down on my college applications.

"It also makes you a very…" Obnoxious Derek thought, "Complicated person."

But Stiles couldn't quite hold back the sarcasm and unleashed a quick interruption "Me and teenage girls. We've got that whole confusing and complicated category down."

"Yes, well, teenage girls smell of cheap perfume." Derek responded. 'Where as you…" He paused, trying to think of the words.

Stiles gave an incredibly fake and offended look, leaning back away from Derek and a wide shock going through his face. "Are you saying I smell?"

"Yes, I mean no," Derek stumbled over his tongue. Stiles let out a laugh. Derek hated that. It could be the most intense mood, full of seriousness and death and Stiles could make one little sarcastic comment and everything would suddenly be awkward. But that awkward was technically the same as going back to normal. How he could just change moods like that, shift the entire environment around him, Derek hated that. Hated it, he told himself.

He felt his claws sink into the thin cushioning that filled the bed. "I mean you smell like a wolf."

"I hear that has a very natural scent. Very mystique and sort of smells like dead bunnies in a moonlit field."

Every bit of sarcastic tone grated on Derek's ears, but he still couldn't help but let out a contradicting smile and groan at the response. Maybe if I just keep talking he'll shut up.

"Look," Derek said in a serious tone, "You smell like a werewolf, but you're not a werewolf."

Hello, ladies, look at me, now back to a wolf, now back at me, now back to your wolf. Sadly, I'm not him, but if I started running around naked in the middle of the night, I could smell like a wolf. Look down; back up, where are you? You're in a forest with blood and fangs with the wolf your man could smell like. What's in your hand, back at me. I have it; it's a human organ and the sound of people screaming. Look again, the organs are now wolfs bane. Anything is possible when your man smells like a werewolf and not a Stiles.

Stiles ran through the entire Old spice commercial in his mind as it failed to grasp onto what Derek was saying.

After the commercial finished in his mind he casually lifted his underarm up and sniffed slightly. Nothing.

A look of disappointment crossed his face. He couldn't even smell the sweat that he was sure was clinging to every inch of his body.

Did he just sniff himself- Oh never mind. Derek gave up trying to understand the things that the teen did. "You can't smell it, but trust me, it's there. We can all smell it."

"And what, the smell bothers your precious little dog noses?"

"Yes, actually." Derek answered. "It's our scent, the scent of the pack, of the wolf. But underneath it is your human stench."

Stench. Stiles thought with a grimace. Good word choice Derek. Human Stench.

"It's rather disturbing to the pack nature."

Disturbing.

"You're with us all the time. And eventually our scent has rubbed off on you. So yes, you reek of a werewolf."

Reek.

"But you're not one of us."

Those words stung in Stiles' ears. You're not one of us.

Derek continued on, ignoring the flinch on Stiles face. "Underneath that scent of the pack is that crippling smell of human. It's a rotting kind of smell that burns."

"So my scent is the problem?" Stiles asked, squinting his eyes and tilting his head slightly.

Derek paused. "Yes. Every time you're with us it smells… wrong."

"And so you kidnap me and destroy my relationship with Scott because of that?' Stiles shouted, his voice rising in frustration. "I'll wear more deodorant and get some spray cologne!"

"It's what your scent does to us that's the problem. Particularly with Scott."

"Why? What does it do to Scott?"

"It's his, I suppose you could just call it his wolf senses. All of ours really, but he spends much more time with you." Derek heaved out a sigh. "The scent confusion irritates the senses."

"I irritated his senses before any of this wolf business started." Stiles interjected. "What does it do to him, exactly?" He emphasized the last word.

And you still irritate now. Derek thought in response to the sarcasm. "It's torturing to the wolf. In a way, it makes Scott loose control of his wolf."

Stiles eyed Derek, signaling that he wanted more.

"In a way you're turning him into an alpha."

"Wait, when we were at Lydia's you said he was like an alpha." And now you make it sound like it's a bad thing.

"Yes," Derek said. "That was before I knew how true it was. He can't be an alpha without a pack. Not just a pack of teenage humans and hunters. But a pack of werewolves. That's what his wolf craves."

"And…" Stiles brain began to process the information.

His wolf wanted a pack- A real pack.

His wolf wanted Stiles. "He would have turned me…"

Derek nodded roughly. "And he wouldn't have asked like Peter or I. You wouldn't have a choice in the matter. He would've turned you. He was close."

"No, no, no, I would have noticed. I would have turned around at some point and seen him eying my neck like candy. I would have noticed that!" Stiles said.

"I'm certain Scott didn't understand what was happening. Hasn't he seemed angry, over protective, clingy?" More so than normal… That boy has need issues.

"No." Stiles responded. Yes. He thought though. He had pushed off Scott's aggressive behavior on his girlfriend problems with Allison. Any teenage boy would have emotional troubles with the entire situation of the love of his life trying to kill him.

It was one day after lunch, as Stiles remembered it, pizza day in fact. He remembered Stiles talking about how he didn't want to tag along on Allison's and Scott date. He tended to get stuck in the booth watching them make out or make puppy eyes for an hour and then pay for dinner as Scott would always forget enough money. He told Scott no, it was probably the first time he did. And the last time. Scott slammed his fists on the beaten up lunch tables, leaving a sizable dent. He shouted some things about friendship, about being there for one another, and Stiles caved in, not really paying attention to the things Scott shouted.

Was this why? He needed me close as his pack… if I got to far away would have he turned me? Stiles swallowed hard and felt his brow crease under the weight of the information.

"Let's say you're right and I have the smelliest smell that has ever been smelt by a dog's nose," Stiles said. Derek was about to growl out a dog comment but Stiles continued on over the tremor of his voice, "Why the kidnapping? Why did you make him chose between Allison and I?"

I wanted you to see how little you mean to him. And really, how little he means to you. Derek though sadly at the crushed teen face. But he couldn't say it.

"He would have killed you." Derek said bluntly. "He wouldn't have just turned you; he would have sunk his teeth in and killed you if I hadn't done anything."

"But why did you have to make him choose!?" Stiles shouted. The sick salt of tears began to sting in his eyes again. Couldn't you have just neutered his alpha senses? Put a muzzle on him? Swat him with a newspaper and spray him with a spray bottle and tell him NO, NO, NO, no turning Stiles. Or killing him. Oh god, killing. Scott wouldn't have killed me. Scott wouldn't kill anything.

"It had to be Scott's decision to let you go!" Derek exclaimed back. He hated seeing the teen broken hearted like this. "His wolf needed to be convinced how wrong you were for his pack, how much you didn't want to be a part of his pack, and how little Scott actually cared for you. Your bond had to be broken."

Break our bonds… We aren't atoms and this isn't science. This is our fucking friendship. And you ruined it to save my life? I don't even know if that's worth it! Stiles thought viciously.

"I still don't understand…" Stiles muttered out after a pause. His tongue swished anxiously around his mouth.

"What don't you get?" Derek tried to ask nicely, but he could feel his patience slipping away as the clock blinked a dull morning time.

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles asked, turning to stop staring at his hands and faced Derek directly.

"Do I seriously have to explain all of that again?" Derek didn't even try to hide his annoyance.

Stiles shook his head and made contact with the light blue eyes. "No, why are YOU doing this."

Derek swallowed and blinked away the eye contact with Stiles, turning to look outside the dingy window that lacked any glass.

His wolf nudged at his rib cage. There it was. The urge to claim again. How easy it would be to push the boy down, hold him down like he did in the nightmare. A small bite, he would survive it without a doubt. Derek mentally shook his head, he already asked. He tried and tried to push the thought out of his mind. Why am I doing this? He repeated Stiles question.

He needed Stiles. It was as simple as that. The boy was a constant thing in is life, and after Scott's flakiness, his family's deaths, there was nothing to anchor Derek. Except Stiles. Except the endless sarcasm, the stupid grins and the pathetic one lined jokes.

It was funny how much Stiles reminded Derek of his sister Laura. Both were quick on their feet and had a mouth with humor too loaded for their own good. He was just like her. He was family.

I could just say this was a return favor, for him constantly saving my life. But it's more than that. I want him to be safe- no; I need for him to be safe.

"It's my job." Derek looked back up, meeting Stiles eyes.

And somehow Stiles understood. It was his job as an alpha. His job as the protector of the pack that Stiles had wormed his human self into. Even though he wasn't a werewolf, it was still the alphas job to keep him safe.

Stiles ran his hand through his shaved hair, ruffling the fingers through the thin strands in frustration. "You need to find a new job." He muttered out under his breath.

Derek could feel his frustration at the teen building. "Do you at least get what's going on?" He gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Well enough." Stiles looked up. "How do I get rid of it?"

"Get rid of it?" Derek asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"The scent. I was serious about the deodorant comment. I will bathe in the stuff it restores my friendship with Scott."

"You seriously want that friendship back?" Derek couldn't hide his shock. Why would Stiles go back? Even if the scent problem hadn't occurred, Scott still wasn't a true friend to Stiles.

Stiles paused and nodded. "He's still my best friend. I know he's a prick. And it I get that he just never actually thinks about anything, especially me. I get that, now more than ever. But he's still my friend. And if my smell is causing him as much as pain you make it sound like, then I need to help. So tell me, how do I fix it?"

Derek had seriously hopped it wouldn't come to this. There was a reason packs did not have human betas. His family contained a few humans, but they had the werewolf gene scent, it was just simply dormant. They never really smelled human, always like werewolves.

But Stiles was different. He was human, down the very core. And the werewolf scent only floated off of his skin, nevertheless burning with the scent of putrid mixing.

"You can't." Derek said and watched as Stiles' face fell dramatically. "No, that's not true. You can, but you won't like the options."

Stiles perked up, raw seriousness flooding his eyes. "Tell me. Derek. Tell me."

"You can either accept the bite," Derek answered. "Or leave."

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	10. Chapter 10

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"Leave?" Stiles asked, confusion riddled across his features. Leave the house? Leave the state? Leave everything?

"Leave." Derek confirmed with a harsh blunt tone. His jaw was locked tightly after he spoke, his eyes lingering down for a moment of shame before reconnecting with Stiles shocked brown.

"What on earth does that mean?" Stiles asked, thrusting his hands off the comforter of the bed, throwing them with wild gestures in the air. There were marks on the bed from where he had been squeezing the bed sheets in frustration.

"It means it's not too late for you Stiles. You can still be a normal human." It killed Derek to say every word. Normal, Stiles would never be normal. Not with his twitchy exterior or his endless mouth or his constant concern for others or his damned curiosity. Especially after discovering the barely hidden secret of werewolves, nothing would ever be normal about him and nothing could ever feel normal again. Even if he left, there would always be that concerned glance over his shoulders, that frantic searching wherever he went for a hunter or a werewolf, that questioning of any new friends- what they were truly hiding and if it there secrets contained fangs and death. There would be no peace of mind.

"You think I can go back? You think I can forget all of this and just be a normal human?" Stiles eyes widened at even the remotest false belief that he could be normal. It was too late.

I can't forget.

And that's okay. I don't want to.

He had changed so much in the last few months, everyone had. Most in a more physical sense, but everything had changed. He saw Scott become far more protective, almost to a clingy level, but he was desperate to defend everything. It was like he was a father and all of his friends were his children, that sort of possessiveness. Stiles saw Allison go from sweet and innocent, to confused and temperamental, to violent and headstrong, then back to a weakened state before turning completely into a hardened exterior of revenge. Stiles understood why she kept changing, but her shifting personality couldn't help but throw doubts of bipolar and crazy. But she nonetheless changed. Jackson- well, Jackson was still an ass. Just an ass covered with reptilian skin and a tail coming out of that ass.

And Lydia. Stiles heart still skipped a pathetic beat at her name, bringing up imagery of strawberry blonde false curled hair. She was so normal last year. Not normal, no, she was faking normal but living it up in the popularity. She was never normal, with brains like that and looks like that. But she lost it all. She lost her status to Jackson and part of the town thinking her insane. She lost her mind to Peter. She lost her self to the long nights of crying. Stiles still thought she was beautiful, thought she was perfect even with her flaws, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back to the normal that she craved. She could do it. She could go back to normal, forget everything and revert back to being a normal teenager.

But Stiles couldn't. He knew he couldn't. Couldn't forget, couldn't change back and couldn't pretend that his life hadn't changed.

Derek doubted. He doubted the slightest possibility that Stiles could, but he had to give the boy the option, despite dreading he would take it. "The argents won't come after you. You can still-"

"Forget it!" Stiles exclaimed defiantly. "I'm not leaving this werewolf business. I can't go back to normal. I refuse to."

Derek nodded stiffly, he had expected that response. "Then Scott will come after you."

Stiles paused, ready to say how he could handle it. He could calm down Scott, find another anchor besides Allison. He could do something. But somewhere a voice whispered up from his gut- he knew he couldn't. If what Derek said was true, than there was no way Stiles could handle his best friend attacking him. Certainly not mentally, and not physically. Stiles was scrawny, at best, and fighting against a werewolf hopped up on alpha steroids wouldn't be a fair match.

"Then is that it?" Stiles muttered, not even masking his disappointment. "Those are the only two options?"

The slight tilting of Derek's head confirmed Stiles fear.

"Hasn't this happened before? I can't be the first human in this situation…" Stiles said suggestively, trying to trigger some memory Derek might have ever heard, some story, some rumor, somebody he could ask. Something- there had to be something more!

"No, you're not." Derek said, causing Stiles eyebrows to perk up in excitement, "But most of them aren't as… stubborn as you on their humanity. They typically choose to turn."

Derek couldn't help but get his hopes up. If Stiles just said yes to the bite, if he turned like every other human would decide to do, then everything would fall into place. Stiles would fit flawlessly into his pack; he knew everything if not more than the other wolves. He could adapt, calm the others even. It would make everything already. Him joining the pack would even bring Scott over to the pack too- diminish that alpha quality stirring in Scott and make him accept Derek. Even then, Derek may have the strength to defeat the Kanima and possibly the hunters. If Stiles would just say yes.

Stiles shook his head, more determined than ever to hold onto his humanity. He could see why other humans in his position would falter and give in to the temptation of the bite. But he couldn't. He had too much humanity in him for that.

That's it. The only two options. His jaw hung open and his hands fiddled uncomfortably on the bed top. He felt as if a brick was west on top of stomach, pressure sinking into his heart, and he felt numb. It wasn't sadness, it wasn't disappointment, and it wasn't even anger. It was just empty.

"Then what do you want to do?" Derek asked, seeing the vacant expression that had flooded into Stiles eyes.

"I don't know!" Stiles shouted. His frustration swept through him. He didn't like either option. "There's not a class to handle finding out your best friend is going to kill you and the only way to save yourself is to leave him or become the thing you hate most! I just don't know…" He rubbed his clammy fingers against the edge of his forehead. He wasn't prepared for this; nobody could ever be prepared for this.

He couldn't take it right then. He felt his breaths growing shorter and the panic stirring in his belly. The stress mounted his mind and more frustration filled his sorrows.

The thing you hate most. Derek had to pretend that the words didn't sting him. "You don't have much time." Derek pressured.

Stiles eyes drifted over to the clock. Hours had passed and the dull sunlight flooded the room through the boarded up windows. Stiles launched himself off the bed. "I need to think about this."

Derek nodded in agreement. He stood up off the bed, preparing to take his leave from the room, assuming Stiles wanted time alone to think about his decision.

Not here. Stiles thought. I can't think about this here. I don't even want to think about it anymore…

"I'm going to school." Stiles remarked as Derek's hand wrapped around the door handle.

Derek's headed whipped around, his eyes stunned in shock. "You're what?"

"Going. To. School." Stiles repeated, straightening his shirt over his body and fidgeting with the pockets in his pants, tucking them and pulling them back out again.

"No, you're not." Derek said firmly, his mind solely focused on one thing Scott will be there.

Stiles thoughts followed the same line but he ignored the pressing weight of Scott on his chest. "Weird, I know, for a kid to actually want to go to school. But I need to think about this."

"Then do it here!" Derek exclaimed. He had gone to so much to get Stiles here; he couldn't believe Stiles would just want to leave like that.

"Right, I'm not making my life decisions in here." Stiles gestured to the decaying wall. He wanted to think about it in peace, not surrounded by decaying features, the scent of must and werewolves, and in an environment he felt constantly threatened in.

Derek was about to ask, why school when Stiles interjected "Besides, no matter what I do I still have to go to school. I'd rather not fall further and further behind in class."

Derek realized there was no arguing with Stiles. The boy was determined. But Derek tried one last time, "Stiles, go home, go to the park, but not to school."

"Thanks for caring about my education." Stiles shot back. He didn't need his dad to get any more absent notices. He didn't need to fall hours behind in all of his classes. He didn't need all of that on top of everything else in his life.

Derek gave up. "Fine. Do what you want." He said bitterly. "But Erika will drive you and escort you to classes."

"I don't need a chaperone." Stiles said, but he was internally grateful for the little protection that Erika would provide him.

Derek dialed the girl's phone number and she flew down the school, eager to snatch the keys to Derek's prized car and drive Stiles back to his house to pick up his bags. The ride was more over in silence as Stiles let out a few comments about breakfast, but quieted down, rested his head against the cool frame of the car door for most the ride.

The alpha watched the pair leave his house, worry strung out across his face. He had given Erika strict orders to not let Stiles out of her sight and tail him around school. Part of him wanted to warn Stiles against Scott, but he knew it was pointless. Stiles would make his own choice of whether he wanted to see Scott again.

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The first period bell rung with a dim chime and Stiles slowly shuffled to class, dragging his feet against the floor. Erika had tailed him all the way to school, but he quickly lied to her about her schedule and dodged her. He wanted to be alone. Well, as alone as a boy can get in a crowded public school. He didn't really want to go to school and suffer through the 7 hours of pointless classes. But he needed to get out of that house, out of that room, away from everything.

He turned to corner to approach his English room, when he halted and saw Scott peering inside. That brown shaggy hair was hard to miss, leaning into the room with his hands dangling at his sides. Even without wolf hearing he could hear Scott calling Stiles name and the teacher shaking his head, saying he hadn't shown up.

Stiles heart stopped at the very sight of his friend, a weight crushing into his body. All he saw was Scotts face when he chose Allison stirring in his mind- that was all he saw.

Stiles bolted behind the lockers, books clasped tight to his chest, trying to not breathe or attract Scott's attention. He even tried to think of oranges and peaches, anything to even change his scent. He prayed Scott wouldn't find him. And that was what it had come to, hiding from his best friend.

The other teen looked crestfallen and slumped away from the English room, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his hair littered over his eyes. He left off down some hallway, probably towards his first period. The late bell rang and Stiles waited another minute before hurrying down the hall to his classroom, peeking out to make sure the coast was clear of his best friend.

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It dawned on Stiles about halfway through English that maybe going to school wasn't the best plan. True, the mindless ramblings of hamlet calmed his mind down from the tense and elevated state it had been in. But this was English. And next period was chemistry. With Scott.

I'll just ditch. Stiles thought carelessly. But then guilt tormented his chest and he remembered the conniving face of his science teacher. Mr. Harris had it out for Stiles. Last time Stiles ditched, he ended up with days of detention and several angry phone calls home, not to mention a thick layer of chalk in his throat from clapping erasers. He couldn't risk the phone calls home. He didn't want his dad to worry, to think anything was wrong when really everything was wrong. His dad could get curious, his dad could get hurt, and Stiles would just have to lie and lie again his father.

No, he would have to go. He decided with a brave face.

And so when the bell for English dismissed him, Stiles hung his head and walked towards the science room, dragging his feet dreadfully in ever step. Erika was supposed to meet him at the doorway, but he spied down the hall, reveling in her newfound beauty and confidence, flirting with some jock on the football team. Stiles quietly sneaked past her.

Maybe Scott won't be there. Scott never showed up to science anyways. He didn't know anything about chemistry. Especially the obvious lack of chemistry between him and Allison after she flipped a psycho switch.

But of course the moment Stiles took his seat, sitting next to Danny who shot a confused look, the familiar brunette dashed into class. That unkempt hair shagged over loosely in his eyes as Scott let out a wide smile of relief at Stiles face in the class room. It hurt Stiles to look at him.

There was so much joy on his face. He had never looked at Allison with that expression, and Stiles knew it. That was pure joy as Scott screamed Stiles name, attracting the attention of the entire class who turned to witness as Scott bolted over to where Stiles was sitting. His palms landed down lightly on the desk, leaning over top with his chest. He tried to usher Danny out of his seat and just as the boy was getting ready to gather his books Stiles said "No, Danny, it's alright. Stay. Scott can go sit with Allison up there." Stiles gestured bitterly with his hand up near the front of the room where Allison was sitting, her head whipped around and staring at the two.

Scott's words caught out in his mouth. "But, I was kind of hoping to sit with you today."

Stiles looked up, meeting Scott's eyes. "Well, unfortunately I don't quite feel like sitting next to you."

Danny gave the pair wide eyes, dreading being stuck between the tense pair.

Mr. Harris interrupted. "Is there a problem boys?"

Scott stared at his best friend for a brief moment, the word of sorry lingering on his swollen tongue. He just stood there, staring at Stiles. Stiles had never said anything like that to him. Stiles wasn't the stubborn one in their relationship, he was the forgiver, the one who always gave in first.

"Mr. McCall. Is there a problem?" The teacher asked again, hitting his ruler anxiously against the desk. The loud tap sounded around the classroom as the entire group of students was broken into silence, watching with beady little eyes.

Scott continued to stand in the middle of the room, refusing to break eye contact with Stiles. He mouthed the quiet word of "please", but Stiles turned his head down and pulled out random notebooks from his backpack.

"Sit down Scott or you will have so much detention that you may start to call this miserable classroom home." Nobody laughed.

The room was tense as Scott scooted over to his desk, throwing his backpack down roughly on the floor and sitting down. A loud squeak emitted from his chair as it slid back across the tiled floor. Allison comfortingly rubbed her hand against his arm, but Scott just stared at the blank desk with an even blanker expression.

Stiles let out a stiff sigh as Mr. Harris began talking about chemicals. Or isotopes. Or the reproductive system. Stiles wasn't even paying attention. His mind was fumbling over thoughts and he couldn't make a complete sentence in his mind.

For the first five minutes, Stiles avoided any eye contact with Scott, not even to glance at the back of his head. But after the droning of Mr. Harris reached his ears, his eyes couldn't help but linger over to Scotts head, almost out of reflex as he did it on a regular basis. But the moment he turned his neck slightly, he found his eye meeting with Scotts- rather than the back of his head. Chills shot down Stiles spin as he turned away, but he could still feel Scott's eyes glaring into him for the entire class.

Stiles stared up at the clock, anxiously drumming his fingers against the desk edge, much to the annoyance of Danny.

About halfway through class he felt a tap on his shoulder. His paranoia overtook him and he turned around sharply, nearly tipping his chair as it stuttered on two legs. His eyes were wide in fear, as Danny's were wide in confusion. "From Scott…" Danny muttered quietly and cautiously, seeing how strung out Stiles was.

Danny stuffed a folded note into Stiles fidgeting fingers.

I'm so sorry- Was all it read to Stiles at first

Ha. Sorry. I know you are. But so am I. Sorry I let you do all of that to me. Stiles was about to bitterly crumple it up, smash it between his fingers and never let it see the light of day again, when he saw more words.

But you're alive. And human. Stiles always hated Scott's handwriting; it was so scribbled out and sloppy.

What happened? The note asked him on the next line down.

Stiles tried to convince himself that Scott really didn't care, he just felt bad. But he looked up and met the other brown set of eyes and knew he cared.

He wanted to tell Scott about the werewolf scent on him, about the newborn raging alpha inside of Scott. But he couldn't. Derek warned him against letting Scott know any of that as it would automatically trigger the alpha reflex and defensive nature. But Stiles couldn't take it. He pressed the note into fist and shoved it into his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Scott's face fall and wince.

And slowly the class ticked by. Dragging on and on as Stiles refused to glance over at Scott whose eyes never left him, watching Stiles instead of the blackboard. Another few ticks of the clock. Stile stared agonizingly at the clock, begging for it to go by faster.

The bell finally rang, its dull thudding echoing across the classroom which soon erupted in a buzz. Stiles considered bolting out the room, gathering his stuff and just dashing, pushing past the line crowding at the door and leaving. But he knew Harris would yell cruel words at him, possibly give him detention. And it didn't matter how fast Stiles ran- Scott could catch him.

So instead he took as long as he could before going to P.E. He packed his books into his bag at a snail pace, slowly stuffing them into his worn out back pack and closing the zipper with a tired screech. Bu when he looked up Scott was still there, standing closer to him, watching Stiles movements.

"Stiles…" Scott murmured out. Stiles could have sworn he saw a tear, or red eyes. He looked hurt. Stiles heart dropped down again.

He felt the air begin to slip out of his lungs. This was drowning. This was seeing your best friends face and cringing. This was pain that clutched down on your ribs and pushed, pushed, pushed until every bone snapped and collapsed onto your heart with a terrifying weight. This was pain, watching your best friend hurt because of you, because you hate him because he loves somebody more. It wasn't jealousy, it was pain. It was drowning.

"Scott." Stiles replied harshly, storming passed Scott and running his shoulder into the other teen, though it ended up hurting him more. Scott couldn't see his face as Stiles winced dramatically as he shoulder began to hurt from the purposeful collision.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk to me right now but-" Scott began, turning around making loose gestures with his hands.

"Damn straight I don't want to talk to you right now." It came out harsher than Stiles intended. Stiles marched out of Mr. Harris's room and the teacher spared no time shooting the teen a harsh look.

"At least let me explain." Scott pleaded, reaching for Stiles shoulder to turn him to face Scott. He had to chase Stiles down the hallway slightly as Stiles started speed walking away, his feet never quite leaving the ground.

"You did explain." At Derek's house. Stiles didn't want to sound so harsh. But Scott broke his heart and Derek fed the fire, prodding it until nothing more than ashes.

Stiles looked frantically around for Erika. He spied the blonde halfway down the hallway and he gave her a set of wide eyes. Even from the distance he could see the edges of fangs poking from her lip glossed over mouth.

Scott continued to beret Stiles, hounding him down with apologies. Stiles wanted to forgive Scott, to turn around and say everything is forgiven, that everything could go back to normal. Stiles wasn't sure if Scott knew why he was so upset at him. Sure, the choosing Allison over him played a large, crushing role in the mood. But Stiles had come to realize the terrible friend that Scott had begun- the ditching, the lying, the ignoring, and the just plain taking advantage of the giving character that Stiles encompassed.

Erika bolted down the hallway, swooping in at Stiles right. "Everything alright here?" She asked with a dangerous expression, her eyes bore into Scott's chest.

"No, Erika. Obviously things are not alright." Scott shot back. He didn't want to be bothered with her. He turned his harsh glare into a softer look at Stiles as he began to beg. "Please, Stiles. Can we just talk about this?"

Stiles could feel his normal endless patience running dry and his frustration with his best friend grew even fiercer. He wanted to yell at Scott to shut up, to get out of his life. For both of their sakes. But instead, he just shook his head, ignoring Scott's pleas.

"No." Stiles muttered out.

"You heard the man." Erika chimed in, picking up on Stiles discomfort. "Shoo. Be gone. Get lost. Go cuddle with your girlfriend or something."

Scott temper flared at the remark and turned to see Erika's expression in a smirk that reached across her face. His claws flexed out of his fingertips, ready to sink them into that overextended neck that rested on her body- maybe rip out her organs. Scott could do it, he was stronger, and he had mastered the wolf thing better than she had.

"Erika…" Stiles trailed out. He shot her look that said that's enough. She shrugged with a slight pout on her lip.

Scott and Erika continued to walk down the hallway with Stiles sandwiched between them. The group soon found themselves at the locker room and Erika stood outside the men's locker room, waiting for Stiles to enter.

"Uh," Stiles began to stutter out as it looked like she may enter in after them. "You know you're a girl right?" I know because of how many times you've thrust your breasts into my face in some twisted seduction technique.

Erika let out a snarky laugh and stormed off towards the lady locker room, leaving Stiles with Scott awkwardly standing at his side. Stiles stared at the door, debated whether it was worth it to go in or not. He never really felt like getting physical exercise, he wasn't fat, he didn't need it. Besides, running from the Kanima and werewolves kept his lanky frame in shape. And he was already exhausted from his attempts at avoiding Scott.

But he realized that if he turned back now, at the doorway of his next class, it would be weak; pathetic even. Scott would be able to see how afraid he was. And Stiles refused to let that happen, so he swung open the door and went inside the locker room.

He went to his normal assigned locker, removing a pile of clothes from the locker. He looked dismally at the pile. Shorts. Socks. Shoes. Not a shirt.

Stiles grimaced, reminding himself how he had given Scott an extra shirt because his was sweaty and he had a date with Allison.

And so Stiles stood there shirtless, trying to not show on his face how upset he was. He glanced around the room, trying to see if anybody was there that would lend him a shirt- maybe Danny, that boy always had extras. But he was gone. As was everybody else. The locker room was hollow inside except for Stiles. And Scott.

Scott thrust a shirt in front of Stiles. It still reeked of Allison's perfume. Stiles heavily debated taking the shirt or going home or showing up to P.E. with his bare chest showing to the mockery of the world.

With a frustrated sigh Stiles reached out and took the shirt from Scott hands, quickly throwing it over his body and heading towards the exit doors.

Suddenly Scotts hand was placed on Stiles shoulder, spinning the teen away forcefully.

"Stiles. Please. You have to understand I didn't want to have to make that choice." Scott said.

It wasn't just that choice. It was everything. And I'm getting damn tired of you apologizing, you're a broken record. Stiles stayed silent, staring at his friend with blank eyes and a plain expression.

"Please Stiles. I didn't want to let you go!" Scott felt his voice rising to a shout.

"And yet you chose her…" Stiles muttered out, but with the acute werewolf senses Scott easily picked up.

"I love her" Scott said. "And I need you. I can't do this without you Stiles."

"That's the thing Scott- You can." Stiles responded. "You can do all of this without me. You don't NEED me. You just want to use me, to cover up everything else, to be there to pick you up when you fall, to be the damn road kill in your line of fire!"

Scott was about to say something when Stiles rolled over him "I'm HUMAN Scott! You don't need me to fight your battles. I can't help you. With anything. Not with your Kanima or furry problems or girlfriend issues or mommy issues. I have my own problems, in case you didn't ever notice!"

Scott was speechless. He had to say something, something more to his best friend who was dangerously close to breaking down in front of him. But all he could muster out was a weak apology. "I'm sorry Stiles-"

"STOP APOLOGIZING." Stiles exclaimed back. Take some God Damn responsibility for once! "You had a choice, and you made it. You made your bed so lie in it for a little while!"

"Damnit Stiles!" Scott roared out in the empty locker room. His voice bounced off of the metal hulls and reflected back to the pair with more intensity. "I didn't have a choice!"

"You had a choice!" Stiles screamed back, his voice echoed off the lockers.

Stiles looked around to see Scotts face, expecting it to be sad. He expected a crushed face that he had seen in the chemistry room. Maybe even a touch of anger, like in the hallways towards Erika. Instead he was met with a look of intensity he had never seen. Scott's eyes stabbed in Stiles and his upper lip began to curl into a snarl.

Within seconds Stiles was slammed against the locker, a small moan escaping his lips. He was really sick of being shoved into things.

"I never had a choice. I didn't have a choice in any of this!" Scot shouted. "I didn't choose to be a werewolf!"

His eyes flickered to a sick yellow and his claws projected, scruff already formed on the corners of his chin. His shift was beginning to happen.

"Scott?' Stiles whimpered out at the sight, his rage instantly fading from him. The facial hair had coated Scotts face and the fangs began to peer out under the lifted lips.

Scotts nose enflamed taking in large whiffs of Stiles scent. His head twitched sideways towards his shoulder at Stiles scent, which radiated off a mixture of fear as well as human as well as werewolf.

"This wouldn't have happened if you were a werewolf…" Scott leaned closer, pressing Stiles tighter to the locker. Stiles could feel the bulge of the locker pressing in a cool touch against his spine. Scott's claws traced the curves of Stiles weak biceps before pressing the arms against the back of the locker.

"Scott, hey, uhm, Stiles are friends. Not food." He said weakly, quoting finding nemo and casually letting the word friend slip out. Yet the claws continued to dig into his skin, causing the teen to wince. He felt his blood slip out from under the weight, dripping steadily to the floor.

"You don't understand. Why did it have to be me? Why couldn't it have been you?" Scott screamed out, pressing harder until his entire claws descended into Stiles flesh. His chest pressed into Stiles. Stiles began to breathe harder, feeling his chest press up against his friends. The cool of the locker almost stung from the heat that came off in waves from Scott's body.

The fingers continued to dig into Stiles arms, holes had formed and slippery blood was coating the tops of Scott's fingers.

Stiles eyes looked up from his arms where they had been transfixed by the pain of the leaking blood. His eyes drifted towards Scott's and Stiles mouth clamped shut when he saw them.

The pupils were gone. His fangs jarred out of his mouth and his eyes were nothing but yellow slits, sunken deep into his head.

Everything Derek had said was true. Scott was gone, lost to that wolf, that alpha, that thing in his mind.

"Scott…" Stiles muttered. The other teen leaned in towards Stiles neck. Stiles tried to minimize his neck, minimize the temptation and pressed his chin tightly to his chest. But Scott's hand flew up, soaking with Stiles arm blood, and pushed Stiles chin back up and met his brown eyes with yellow glowing ones.

Stiles knew he had been wrong earlier. This was like drowning. The air ceased flowing into his lungs; it simply stalled outside his mouth, never quite catching into his mouth with his tongue. This was pressure, sinking down, down, down. This was fear. This was everything Stiles felt in his nightmares.

Stiles chest heaved outwards, sucking in what breathe he could and he felt his own sweat touch the lining of Scott's shirt and terror filled his heart. "Please, Scott," he muttered out, "Don't. Don't turn me." He said bluntly, reading the possessive look in Scott's mind.

His fangs were barely an inch away from Stiles neck, begging to feed into the pulsing vein.

His- Stiles was his. And now Scott could smell Derek on his clothes, on his skin. The scent of the musty house and the musty blankets and the musty alpha all over his friend, his property, his Stiles- It was sickening.

Scott couldn't take it. He lowered his body over Stiles neck and his teeth begged to nip into the icy flesh. And just as he was pressing his teeth the pale, shaking body, Stiles raised his leg as quickly as he could.

And the blow connected to the werewolf's precious reproduction corners. The teen let out a yelp, hands immediately bolting down his golden gates and coddling them. His lower parts burned, and despite the tolerance for pain that came with being a werewolf, they continued to ache and agonize.

Stiles fell to the ground and attempted to slink away from his friend. He scrambled up and shot the other side of the room near the door. That could have been it. He thought darkly. That could have been my last moment of being human.

Scott's eyes shot open and Stiles let out a short sigh, seeing the normal brown return, all traces of the yellow fading from the shock and the pain.

"Stiles?" Scott asked innocently, feigning the ignorance of what had just happened- or almost happened. Stiles just shook his head, still feeling the warm breath on his neck and the claws submerged in his flesh.

"No, no, no" Scott panicked, taking a few steps towards Stiles who backed away just as many. "I'm so sorry! "

Scott continued to frantically apologize. Stiles looked up at his best friend, nearly in tears from the event. He had almost been turned, he had almost lost everything. And yet even in that moment his heart still gave out for Scott. He couldn't control his wolf anymore. And it was Stiles fault. This is hurting him more than it is me…

"Please," Stiles begged as his fingers laced around the cold metal door handle. "Don't follow me."

Stiles shot out of school, leaving Scott petrified in the locker room. The teen collapsed on the bench, his head held in his hands. He heard the door slam and he sat there for the remainder of the period, buried in his own grief.

Scott will turn me. Scott will kill me. Stiles thought, never quite believing how real everything Derek was saying was until he felt the drip of saliva fall onto his neck. Scott will turn me. Scott will kill me.

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Stiles left the school in a hurry and a strange sense of loss welled up inside of him. He didn't know where to go, he didn't know what do. So he found himself wandering around down town aimlessly for several hours. The city part of Beacon Hills was small, quaint at best. Stopping and wading through discount aisles in Wal-Mart and stumbling into random stores that he used to visit with his mother. He passed hours this way, window gazing with a blank and mindless face.

Eventually he wandered into his fathers work, the police station. It felt so familiar to his feet that eventually he knew he would wind up here.

He greeted the woman at the front desk, giving her a fake smile. He had become a regular there. She smiled back politely of course. He may not have been the sheriff's son anymore, but his father was still respected amongst the force and that trickled down to minimal respect for Stiles. Stiles gave the lady a quick wave and headed back towards his fathers office.

He saw his father and his heart swelled up. Stiles watched him from behind the dusty glass. His back was bent over a stack of greasy looking papers. He looked older. Wrinkles and frustration mapped out the corners of his face. He looked drained. Dark patches filled in the areas where the former sheriff hadn't seen sleep in weeks. Stiles wanted to hug him, tell him everything would be okay.

But he knew it wouldn't. The werewolf mess was going away. And it wasn't going to be okay. It wouldn't ever be the same e between the two men, but Stiles still felt a strong guilt and responsibility for his father. The werewolf problems were his problems which were his dad's problems which were problems that he couldn't share because that would just cause problems and Stiles knew for a fact that he couldn't handle any more problems.

He couldn't turn werewolf and add more to his fathers stress.

But he couldn't leave Scott alone in the world of werewolves either.

Staring blankly from behind the dirty glass a voice whispered, begging to Stiles to for once ask himself what HE wanted. If he really wanted the change or if he wanted to let go of everything he had learned. What he wanted. For once, Stiles realized he just needed to think of himself. His father could either handle the truth or learn to cope with the lies or watch their entire relationship crumble. Or Scott could learned to respect Stiles and leave him out or fall apart without Stiles help or constantly try to drag Stiles back into the werewolf mess- completely ignorant to how much Stiles was sacrificing for both of them. Stiles pushed those thoughts of his head. He just needed time to think for himself. Everyone else could come later.

And with his mind rambling, yet surprisingly numb, Stiles left the sheriffs office without greeting his father and headed towards home.

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It was a long walk and by the time he arrived night had begun to fall. His feet were sore and his brain pounded dismally with a sad headache. All he wanted was to sleep away the day and night and never wake up. He carefully unlocked his door and ascended up the stair case, his feet thumping hard against every step.

He didn't even bother turning the lights on, walking straight through the darkness and heaping piles of clothes and collapsed face first onto his bed. Immediately the comfort of his pillows comforted him. He tore off his shirt and tossed it aimlessly on the ground and closed his eyes in peace.

And immediately a voice shot out from the darkness to ruin that.

"I figured you would come back here." Derek cooed out. His dazzling blue eyes stood out from the darkness.

Stiles sat up with a bolt, slipping down to his knees and falling off the bed. He cursed rapidly under his breath. He glanced up and saw the window dangling open, a cool breeze floating over his curtains and drafting into the room.

"My window is not some freaking entry way to my room reserved for werewolves!" Stiles retorted. My closet is not a passage to Narnia and my window is not a free room pass!

"It is when you ditch Erika and don't even bother coming back to the house." Derek taunted.

Stiles pushed himself off the ground and stumbled towards his light, tripping with a lack of grace over a pile of boxers on his floor. He fingered the light and with a soft click the room was dimly illuminated.

The house- He seriously expected Stiles to come back and meet Derek there. Stiles felt no desire to return to that house- it was only filled with miserable memories. Stiles didn't know how Derek could stand to live there, especially with the scent of his dead family lurking the basement. "What the hell do you want now Derek? I'm really not in the mood so just cut to the chase." Stiles asked irritated.

Derek took a casual sniff, winding his way around the question. "You smell different." He said it as a statement, but it came out harsh with a shaved edge to it.

"And you smell the exact same. Are we done?" Stiles began to fidget with his finger tips, rubbing them gently against the lob of his ear out of nerves.

Derek inched closer to Stiles, who had regained his sitting position on the bed. "Scott." Derek said bluntly.

Even in the light Stiles could see the bright flash of red that surrounded Derek's eyes. It was blinding to look at, especially when the werewolf continued to lean forward on top of Stiles with a torn expression. "You smell like Scott." He repeated angrily.

"Oh, yeah, funny story about that actually. Mainly because the story isn't funny at all." Stiles muttered out, faking a dramatic laugh, as Derek pressed closer.

Stiles glanced down and saw the tips of claws extend and sink into his bed. He scooted back, another painful feeling of fear rising in his chest.

"What happened?" Derek demanded. His face was stern and his eyes were narrowed, focused on the squirming teen. Stiles felt his back bump against a wall after scooting further and further.

"You were right, okay?" Stiles said, hoping that was all Derek wanted to hear. Stiles didn't have a pride complex; he could admit when another person was right and when he was wrong. He just wanted Derek to nod and tell him things would be okay or that Stiles could make his choice soon. What he didn't want was for Derek to pry. But with claws that sharp and a face that determined, all the wolf could do was pry. He wanted, needed, to know what had happened.

And judging from the scent of fear and tears that lingered on his shirt and sweat from when he first walked into the room, Derek had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

"He tried to hurt you…" Derek muttered sniffing out the hormones of terror that rushed off of Stiles. They curled up his brain, increasing Derek's anger.

"Don't worry about it…" Stiles tried to dismiss the werewolf's rage. He didn't want him to go after Scott.

"This is exactly what I told you would happen!" Derek was pulling the 'I told you so' card and Stiles just went along, trying to calm the anger he could see pulling out in Derek's glowing red eyes.

"I know! I know!" Stiles said. His back was firmly pressed against the wall due to his continual backing up.

"What is wrong with you? Why would you even interact with him?" Derek shouted. His hands slammed into the wall above Stiles head.

I'm shirtless and pressed up against a wall- Again. I think I'm starting to see a pattern. I need to always, always, wear a shirt. Stiles thought as Derek's body squeezed over top of his.

"You mean because he's trying to kill me or because he's a crappy friend?" Stiles asked, not really wanting the answer. He was avoiding looking at Derek. He could almost feel the anger towards Scott and Stiles from his skin.

Derek growled loudly and felt his fingers trace the indents in Stiles arms. There were deep holes in his arms from Scott's claws. The pale flesh, interrupted by the gaping holes with blood stains still burnt into the skin. The burning touch of the wolf tickled the edges of Stiles skin with a strange sensation.

Derek's eyes shrunk at the arm holes. His rage only seethed more. He crushed his eyes together, trying to focus. When suddenly there was a change in Derek. His face became tight and constricted, as if in pain.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, sensing as the wolf's body rapidly became stiff. Worry crept into his tone. Derek looked in pain. Derek never looked in pain; he always hid it, keeping his strong appearance up. But he looked hurt, holding something back.

"Shut up." Derek replied shortly.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, ignoring the demand.

"Shut up!" He repeated louder, his head hung down as his hands began to clench in circles around Stiles arms. They squeezed the pale lining, first gently but became harder and harder, gripping the arms as if they were jelly stress balls.

"Derek…" Stiles muttered…you're hurting me.

"Shut up!" Derek looked up, his eyes rabidly glowing.

Stiles felt his lips glue shut as he looked at the alpha with wide eyes. His eyes weren't just red. They were coated with flecks of yellow and a bloodstained crimson hue overtook the bright red.

Derek could smell it all. The scent. The sweet scent of humans. The bitter scent of another werewolf, Scott. The familiar scent of his pack. All blended together. It was toxic. They mingled together in a sick way.

"I made up my mind." Stiles said ignoring the pain Derek looked like he was in to keep control of his wolf. Stiles voice stuttered out over the pain in his arms and furious look in Derek's eyes. "Just so you know… I want to stay human."

He wasn't sure what made him decide to tell Derek at that very moment. He thought it would calm the wolf down, give the wolf a solid rejection. Hell, Stiles wasn't sure what made him come to that conclusion; His father, his normality, his life. He wanted a life. He wanted peace, eventually. And the decision seemed to burn on his tongue and it never seemed more concrete until that moment when Derek's warm, tan flesh was on his, begging to nip at Stiles neck with a werewolf sense of lust. Stiles realized he didn't want that for himself. And so he let it glide off his tongue.

He imagined a weight being lifted off his shoulders at the word. But he immediately felt his shoulder instead tighten up as Derek's grip increased on Stiles arms, his fingers tempted to burrow in the same holes made by Scott.

Stiles was becoming incredibly sick of the pain, of the being pushed around, of the werewolves constantly letting their wolves take over. He was sick of being afraid. He was only human; he could only take so much.

Human. Stiles thought delicately. Such a strange concept. Sure, he considered Scott and Derek and the rest of the pack still human. But only in the loosest sense.

A deep growl raged from Derek's throat, sounding almost confused. "Human…" Stiles chocked out. All he wanted was for the wolf to recede, to pull back his hands and release the alpha grip on Derek's mind. Rejection- That's what Stiles was feeding the wolf- pure rejection. Hoping to tame the blaring animal inside of Derek.

Instead it only angered the wolf and Derek launched for Stiles neck. The fang barely grazed the edge of skin as Stiles swerved to the side out of reflex. He tried to break off Derek's grip, shaking wildly in his grasp, and the momentary shock from Derek about his bite missing caused the grip to loosen ever so lightly. That was just enough for Stiles to squirm briefly out of Derek's hands. With a quick spin Stiles broke free, dashing towards the door.

He couldn't hide his shock. Derek had tried to bite him.

He had offered Stiles the bite and Stiles had refused it. And here Derek was, not asking anymore.

"The situation with Scott, it's the exact same damn thing with you!" Stiles shouted angrily as his fingers pressed against the door. He realized why Derek did all of this. He wanted Stiles. He wanted Stiles in his pack, he wanted Stiles in his control, and he had the same alpha tendencies that Scott did. He wanted Stiles to choose the wolf side. That's why he broke him away from Scott, not because he cared that Stiles would turn a werewolf, but that it would be under Scotts control and not his. And the alpha in Derek couldn't take that. Another pack, sure, that would be bad. But a pack filled with one of his own renegades and Stiles. He wanted Stiles the same way that Scott did.

Derek turned around in confusion, fighting his wolf to regain control. A bit of blue peaked out from behind bloodstained eyes. "It's not like that Stiles!"

"Lies!" Stiles shouted back creaking open the door. He already had half of his body out the door.

"I thought you would be safer with me!"

"Safe?" Stiles eyes widened, a wild gesture swarming his hands. "None of this is safe! Ever!"

"Stiles! Wait" Derek cried out. He was trying to walk after the boy, but his head pounded, the wolf screaming for control back. The wolf slumped to his knees as the wolf howled in his mind. He could catch him still, he could turn him still, and it wasn't too late. He would forgive him. The wolf whispered into his mind. Stiles always forgives.

Derek thought dismissively, fighting the control of the wolf, trying to think of why he needed Stiles. He needed him for this very reason. Derek wanted him close, true, as the alpha control genes jutted through him. But he wanted him for who he was. He wanted him because even in the worst moments, Stiles was there when Derek had nobody. He wanted him because Stiles had a level head, unlike the raging tempers and hormonal sidetracked minds of himself and his pack. He wanted Stiles because deep down, Derek knew Stiles could help him fight back his wolf, learn to gain control, learn to negotiate, learn to be a leader. He needed Stiles, but Stiles didn't need him.

By the time Derek looked back up with what control he could muster, Stiles was gone, the door swinging weakly in his wake.

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	11. Chapter 11

Stiles stumbled around the dark street, aimless wandering towards a dingy and blinking streetlight like a moth to a light. Shirtless. In his haste out the door he didn't bother to grab a shirt. A deep frown creased his face as the cold wind began to nip at his chest, tickling the hairless chest with wet lips.

Great He thought with an abundance of bitterness, People are going to look outside their windows and see some shirtless teenage wandering the streets. They're definitely going to think I'm a pedophile- or drunk- or high- or escaped from an insane asylum. Though I guess escaping from being bitten by a disgruntled werewolf is close enough to an insane asylum.

Stiles shoved his scrawny fingers deeper into his pants pockets. They were a rare empty, containing no keys to fiddle with and no phone to distract time with pointless apps. It was just him. Alone with nothing but the rambling broken record that was his thoughts. And oh, how he hated the sound of his thoughts. They snarled at every comment, panicked at every whistle of the wind, and would not let him stop thinking about Derek. Sure, it was only a few minutes ago but Stiles could still feel that light drop of sweat and spit that Derek had left when his fangs shot out onto Stiles neck. It froze like midnight dew on his neck and clung there, no matter how hard Stiles tried to wipe away the feeling with the back of his wrist.

He wanted nothing more than for silence, or a distraction. Anything to whisk his thoughts away to happier time where best friends didn't try to turn you into a furry beast. To a place where friends – No, not friends. Derek couldn't quite be considered a friend. To say the least if they had a relationship, it would be considered 'complicated' on facebook. But in order to be in a relationship on facebook I would have to be friends with him first… Stiles thought. He hadn't checked facebook in the longest time. His dismal few friends on there probably never updated and he didn't have anybody to add or any interest in going on. Maybe Erica added him, along with entire male population of the school. Stiles let out a gruff sigh, trying to enjoy the distraction but realizing just how false it was in the reality of things.

There was a slight scuffling sound as his shoes barely lifted off the ground with every step. Stiles necked craned around to check and see if Derek had even attempted to follow him out. But there was only the blank canvas of the street behind him. He couldn't even see his house any more; it had become engrossed in the dark shroud of night.

Maybe Derek just couldn't stomach it. Maybe he was scared, Stiles let out a fake chuckle at the thought of the big bad wolf frightened. Maybe he was ashamed, the damn hypocrite preaching of resisting Scott when really, his fangs were just as eager to sink into the delicious flesh of Stiles. Delicious Stiles thought, I need to lay off the Zombie stuff.

Stiles lifted his head up from staring at the spotted cement ground and stared up at the stars. It was strangely calming, seeing that raw expanse of the universe. How many months had it been since he had actually looked at the stars. It was funny, how small, how insignificant his problems seemed tot eh mass of light and energy that were busy exploding millions and millions of light years away. In several years maybe this little town will forget the attacks. In a few more years, maybe people like Derek, if still even alive, will forget in. In 50 years, maybe I'll be dead. And nobody will remember this strife, this conflict. It will be forgotten, never written down in any history text book or bestiary. It was will simply never exist, alongside billions of other lives.

Most people would find this depressing, the sick acceptance of their own uselessness. But it was strangely comforting for Stiles. This wasn't the end of the world. Maybe the end of his world, but the world would go on turning, most of it happily oblivious to the werewolves and that lone human in the pack.

Finally he began to feel the rush of peace flow over him.

But of course, in this world, peace is such a fickle thing. And the loud screeching, screaming, howling, and yelping noise overtook Stiles world and senses.

So familiar and no matter how many times Stiles heard it, it made him want to cringe into himself. Scott. Stiles thought blandly. No hatred, no confusion, no joy.

Then another howl shook the air. Stiles turned around with panic, waiting for houselights to flicker on, for a police car to show up, for something else to happen. But the neighborhood held no reaction.

The next yelp was painful, a bleating cry. The cry cracked in the air and Stiles immediately picked up on the distressed sound.

Stiles bore his fingers into a fist, squeezing tight and trying to block out the scream.

Yes, the scream. It continued on, this time in several short bursts, sounding more and more animalistic and more and more painful.

Scott… Stiles now thought with concern. Probably just getting his emotions out, like screaming into a pillow, except with entire night sky being your pillow.

He wouldn't go. He wouldn't be curious, he wouldn't be nosy, and he wouldn't be helpful. He wouldn't go. Stiles swore he wouldn't move from that spot. His fists trembled from being locked. He gave them a quick flex, seeing the little imprints his nails had left from squeezing so hard.

But the next scream came so soft, so distant, and so wrong. Crying. But not tears of love or loss, tears of pain. It was a whimper, a whine.

A call for help.

Stiles couldn't hold back, his nature was screaming at him to help even in his useless being. There had to be something he could do.

So with his bare chest bracing the wind he sprinted towards the forest and was swallowed whole the lumbering tree's that loomed over with a captivating shadow.

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This is where it all started. Stiles thought, as his fingers waded through a large bush and separated them as though Stiles was Moses and the leaves were water. Where Scott first got bit.

That first night had seemed so long ago, so distant, even though it was the most vital course in the history of events. A small bilge of guilt welled up in the corner of Stiles stomach.

His fault.

That first night – it was his fault. He had wrangled Scott up to go out and seek out the dead body, both being completely oblivious to werewolves. He had been the one to suggest they go through the woods like a pair of morons. He was the reason Scott had been bit. And yet Scott had never blamed Stiles for it. Surely, Scott realized that at the end of it all, the beginning was what started everything and Stiles was the cause for the beginning.

No, I can't think like that. Stiles continued on his debate, leaping over a fallen tree. We had been out in the woods many times before that. I didn't know a werewolf would leap out and try out Scott's skin for flavoring. I didn't know that, and I couldn't help it. It just as easily could have been me.

But it wasn't.

A large cracking noise interrupted Stiles thoughts. A clearing appeared up ahead and the sound emerged form there. The sound was a grouping of twigs, or a large branch maybe. Stiles continued to walk towards it.

One of those whimpers poured out in the air. Stiles heart sunk even more.

"Scott?" Stiles whispered slowly as he trod over what looked to be a mangled furry body. He didn't look down to inspect it too closely. He tried to convince himself it was just a stick and the trick of the light. But the smell of blood hung to its matted fur. No, it was definitely a rabbit. Or a bunny. He was never sure of the difference. But the smell of death still was attatched to whatever it was a bits of far were mangled across the varying plants.

That's the circle of life, I guess -Probably just an animal killed it. Stiles thought as his face grimaced at the poor, destroyed figure. Or maybe a wolf killed it… He swallowed hard at the thought.

Suddenly the image of Lydia's torn apart body from his dream crept into his mind. That little animal's fur looked so red from the blood, just like her hair. That smell was so sickly in his dream and it pieced perfectly with reality.

It took all of Stiles strength to hold back the mental image of his love lying crumpled on that forest floor and to not vomit and cry.

Another whimper, drawing Stiles attention from the death. "Scott?" He called out again, this time louder.

Why? Why am I doing this? Scott is a prick, Scott tried to bite me, Scott chose his damn girl over me, and yet I'm still here poking around in the forest in the middle of the night looking for some reason to save his wolfy little butt. What is WRONG with me?

The moonlight glimmered brightly in the clearing as Stiles stepped out into it. He really wished for a flashlight, or glowing eyes, or some of those night vision goggles he had bought on sale just for this very reason. Never leave home without night vision goggles.

The whimpering continued, much more consistent now. The slight words of "help" and "Stiles" were muttered between moans.

Despite not having intense hearing, Stiles still was able to notice the cries and this time screamed louder, fully recognizing Scott's voice. "SCOTT? WHERE ARE YOU?"

And then the whimpers stopped.

And then the growling began.

It was low and it came from the same direction as the whimpers. But Stiles heard it enough times to recognize it as Scott's growl. The same one he gave when Allison was kidnapped or whenever Scott was in a fight. This was anger.

"Stiles." It was his voice. Stiles rapidly turned around to see Scott on the opposing side of the clearing, his hands propped against his hips and hairy fully coating every inch of his skin.

Oh. I guess he's fine…

"Clearly, you don't want the bite." Scott spoke from across the field. It was a normal tone, but in the silence of the night Stiles heard it loudly. A bumpy nod was all Stiles could response with.

"And that's fine." Scott continued, "As your friend I can respect that choice."

His figure took another step across the clearing, easily bounding nearly half of the clearing in a few leaping steps.

Stiles eyes peered around, trying to figure out what was going on.

The whimpering...

He needed help…

The middle of the forest…

In the middle of the bloody night…

He was crying for help in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night when I happened to conveniently walking down after we got in the most massive fight of our friendship and of course I'd come and…

Oh

Oh shit.

Trap.

It's a trap. Stiles eyes grew wide as they stared out to Scott. His eyes flashed a brilliant yellow in the darkness. Then, a loose smile pleading across his lips, Scott sprinted across the field.

Trap. He's going to kill me. I'm going to die. I'm going to die shirtless. Stiles was petrified to the spot. But a loud growl from Scott served to shake him out of that trance.

He heard the footsteps digging and bouncing off the ground as Scott was lost in the darkness. Stiles didn't need to think. His body told him all he needed. Run

RUN

And that's what he did, his feet pounded across the ground, begging to not trip on a root. It seems in every movie the escaping sidekick trips on a root, on a stick, on a dead body and falls down to the mercy of the villain. Only to be saved the best friend and hero. Unless of course, the hero was the one chasing you with fangs and what looked like foam and rabies coming out of his mouth.

Yes, running seemed like a damn good idea. Stiles continued into the forest, his breath panting behind him and the world seemed to rush up on a high on adrenaline. The trees grew vivid and dull at the same time, a clarity he could not focus on as he rushed by so quickly. He winded through the giant trees, ducking and pushing through the crowds of needles that tried to sting him.

He knew he couldn't outrun Scott. He couldn't even loose Scott as his breathing became so loud and audible that even Helen Keller could probably hear it.

There were no thoughts right now. Only running. Only death. Only running from that death.

Through another thicket and around the boulder, swerve over the top and jump the stream. But the growling got louder and louder, closer and closer.

Stiles head swiveled around as his legs leapt over a clearing. The yellow eyes glinted and soon they would be on him. He knew he couldn't outrun a werewolf. Hell, there were probably few things that he could outrun. But he would try.

Stiles landed the jump, stumbling over and trying to regain his footing. But exhaustion, fear, terror, and a dip in adrenaline all rushed onto Stiles and his feet caught on top of each other, tripping and sending him sprawling the ground. His bare chest scrapped up against the forest lining, coated in a mixture of leaves, deer poop, and worms.

Desperately, he tried to push himself up. But the throbbing his legs and the quaking in his knees had other ideas.

And within seconds Scott was on top of him. Stiles looked up with a terror filled expression. Scott sunk down to his knees, getting close to eye level with Stiles and a cruel expression was riddled on his face.

Stiles was his. He was his first, not meant to be coated in the other wolves' scents, not meant to smell different from him.

An inch of the claw expanded from his index fingers and Scott playfully traced it on the corner of Stiles trembling neck. His heart rate was gone, rocketing through the countable measure, nearing a heart attack level. If Scott didn't kill him- fear very well might.

"I'm so sorry about this Stiles…" The voice above him cooed and Stiles felt the nail inch on top of his skin, ready to sink in. Stiles eyes squeezed together, dreading the moment.

But it never came. Instead of the feeling of death, a large ringing growl erupted, shaking every fiber of Stiles already shaking figure.

It was angry, a vicious commanding cry that paused the finger over Stiles neck. It boomed and echoed around the still forest and halted Stiles breathing. It was Derek.

A sudden rush of wind knocked past Stiles back and the teen looked up to see Derek pounced over on top of Scott, knocking him clean off Stiles. The sickening red glow burned in the night and Stiles frantically gathered what strength was left in his body and shuffled across the dirt to behind a boulder.

He could still see the fight as Derek's claws sunk into the still shocked Scott's chest. He hollowed in response and Stiles noticed the sickly yellow color his eyes flashed too. Derek leapt at Scott again, knocking him over his heels and into the back of the tree. But Scott swung his legs up, nailing Derek in the stomach and pushing him back into the trunk of another tree, which in turn cracked and timbered down. Derek let out a low groan and within moments Scott was on him with a barrage of punches.

Stiles watched with a sick amazement. He couldn't believe Scott was winning. But as he watched more and more, he began to see why. Derek kept glancing behind; checking to make sure Stiles was okay. And Scott, well, Scott was gone. His pupils were left behind in the deep yellow and he had become feral. Wild and deranged- he was perfectly wolf now and whatever human was left had been pushed to the farthest corners of his mind.

Scott's teeth sunk down in Derek's shoulder, letting the Alpha bellow out and try to shove him off. And indeed he did, but Scott took a chunk of Derek's flesh with him. It dangled in Scott's mouth before he spit it on the ground with a sour taste in his mouth and disappointed look on his face. Blood erupted from Derek's wound, showing no signs of rapid healing.

But Scott did not relent and sunk his claws down in the pit of Derek's stomach, reaching through the flesh and winding through the intestines. It was slippery against the edges of the claws and slid through like butter, his fingers emerging on the other side of Derek. They narrowly missed curling around the fragile spine, but spewed out Derek's back nonetheless, coated and swimming in a crimson liquid. A sickening hurling motion and Derek dribbled out black liquid, followed by a large spewing of what looked like blood. He coughed and spat up more on top of Scott's shirt and in the darkness Stiles could see the glimmer of joy in the boy's face. He wretched his arm out of the wound, pulling it out slowly and twisting, causing Derek's face to contort even stranger. With a final yank, blood spurted out in a thousand directions and Derek collapsed against the backing of a tree. As his back slid down a line of blood was left behind and his red eyes turned blank.

Derek. Stiles eyes were transfixed on the body. Derek couldn't be defeated – or dead. This was Derek, the original wolf. No, no, that was not his blood. It can't be his blood, Derek get up!

"Now where were we?" It was not Scott's voice. It was his voice, but it was not him- This was cruel and condescending, this was sick and deranged. Stiles trembled and glanced at the figure from behind the boulder. It was gently sniffing the blood that was engrossed over his hands and body. A disgusted look formed on the face, eyes sinking down and lips curling into a snarl. With a quick shake the flung his wrist around, letting the blood splatter against the tree's and Derek's unconscious body.

Stiles turned around rapidly and pressed himself harder and harder against the boulder, begging for it to absorb his body and hide him. But he knew it was pointless. Scott could smell him, Scott could hear him. Shit- at this point Scott could practically taste him.

"Scott!" A new voice rung out in the chilly air. Immediately the figure that could vaguely be identified as Scott froze.

Allison. That pure, innocent voice strung through the night.

Hope, joy, and a mixture of fear for her shot through Stiles. I could never pull Scott back from the wolf and the anger but Allison can! How did she know I was here? Did she bring her Dad? I sure as hell hope she brought her dad. Maybe not her Grandpa, but at this point I won't be picky.

He glanced up and saw Scott staring with wide eyes and Allison. And Allison's normally large doe eyes were twice their normal size, noticing the corpselike Derek and the blood that saturated down Scott's arms and hit the ground in a dismal puddle with a depressing splash.

Come on Allison. Do your stuff, whatever it is that you do to pull him back from his wolf. Tell him he's pretty, talk dirty to him, and kiss him! Maybe that will work!

Nothing happened; just more intense staring as Scott slowly mouthed her name. So much confusion was in his eyes and all focused on her.

Her hands were clasped over her mouth, apparently also trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

DO SOMETHING. Stiles screamed mentally and impatiently at the tense seen. I have never wanted to see them kiss more than at this moment.

"You…did this…?" Allison asked slowly, her head turning away the revolting scene of blood and fear around them.

Scott turned his head to the side slightly and nervously gnawed on his lip. His throat seemed swollen as he looked back at his girlfriend.

"Is he dead?" She asked bluntly. Her arms were crossed and her right hand was rubbing her forearm anxiously. Her hair had fallen in her vision and she made no move to push it away.

Scott turned and stared speechless at the body. Something was beginning to click in his brain. The little hamster started to run on the wheel again. But he was still silent as his gazed turned back to Allison.

She was weeping now. Not crying and bawling, but the small sighs and tears dripped over her cheek and audible gasping sounds were made.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this Scott! I don't understand why you did this, why you killed him!" Allison shouted.

The word killed stung Stiles. No, Derek couldn't be dead. This was Derek. He didn't die. If there was a poster child for escaping situations alive it would have his brooding angry face on it. He. Is. Not. Dead.

"You're not a murderer Scott! He kidnapped me, but that's why we got my dad involved…" She murmured out, gasping between the sentences.

Stiles was dumfounded. The kidnapping. How long ago that seemed. That was what Allison believed drove Scott to kil- harm Derek? No. She didn't know about the scent thing. How could she? Scott barely understood it. Hell, Stiles barely understood it.

"No, that's wrong." Stiles interjected.

Allison turned around, stumbling back several paces. "Stiles? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here? Aren't you here to, I don't know, calm down your boyfriend and save me?'

"Save you? Why on earth would I save you?" She hadn't met for it come out like that, but the confusion riddled her question into something harsh.

"Scott was trying to kill me! I would be dead if…if Derek hadn't shown up!" Stiles swallowed hard at the thought of the body that was coated in the slippery film of death only a few feet from him.

"Kill you? Scott? What's going on here…?" She was brimming with confusion; her eyes darted between a bloodied Scott and Stiles.

Scott just returned with a blank stare, though his eye brows creased down as though beginning to process the questions. Another moment of silence passed. It became apparent that either Scott had lost all of his brain cells or he did not feel particularly inclined to speak.

"If you're not here to save me then what are you doing here?" Stiles asked, peering over all the way from behind the boulder.

"We… we were supposed to meet in secret with my Dad here… in order to discuss what happened the other night!"

"In the middle of the forest?" Stiles eyes narrowed with a skeptical tone, "In the middle of the night."

"We couldn't risk my grandfather overhearing… he would kill Derek." Her eyes flickered down the body and she turned her side again, her cheeks swelled up and her lips formed a sick pout. Although it seems a little too late for that.

"He may not be here but I think I've heard enough." A new voice entered and all three heads turned to see Chris Argent standing over the clearing.

A gun was cocked in his hand and without hesitation he pointed it at Scott and fired.

The bullet whizzed through the air and stabbed Scott in the arm. Scott was slightly in a daze from seeing Allison, but the pain from the bullet snapped back his animal nature. A loud growl shook the forest.

"Dad! Don't shoot Scott!" Allison screamed. "This is all a misunderstanding!"

Stiles wanted to say that Chris could shoot away; Scott was trying to kill him and all that. But his loyalty held on, even after everything.

Scott frantically looked around, and then focused in on Allison with shaking eyes. He prepared to leap at Allison, his claws already projected towards her neck, when another bullet was fired from Chris's gun, causing Scott to jump back as it landed in the space next to his daughter. Suddenly his arm began to burn wildly and Scott shot a look down. Even in the dingy light he could tell it had taken on a purplish hue and a rapid burn spread up the arm. A low growl vibrated in his throat. Another quick look around and Scott was gone.

He bolted through the trees and retreated from the gun.

"Dad!" Allison screamed again. Stiles was getting rather tired of her shrieking noises.

Stiles glanced up to see where the father Argent went but he disappeared above the rocky feature.

Suddenly, Stiles heard a revving noise and from over top a rustic ATV appeared over the clearing, pounding and falling to the ground with a loud clang. Chris was sitting the wheel, obviously prepared for a chase- though it sounded like the chase was originally meant for Derek and not Scott. But the ATV was filled with ammunition and weapons of every sort.

It swerved near Allison and Chris screamed over to her to get on. She looked at Stiles for a quick moment, but his face remained blank as she got on. With a quick hop she was on top of the ATV and her father was pressing on the gas, preparing to go after Scott before he got too large of a head start. Her nerves shown through as her dad passed her the crossbow and began to steer off between the trees.

He began to lecture about feeling and duty and obligations and love and death as he slammed down on the gas. Stiles couldn't hear any more as the machine hurtled away into the forest after the escaping wolf Scott.

And just like that Stiles unfortunate knight in shining armor was riding away on his noble steed. Or Chris argent on a land rover, really, at this point they were the same thing.

Stiles gently placed his hand over his heart, refusing to believe he was just saved. And just as quickly as he was saved, he was alone again. His heart was still bulging at the edge of his rib cage and shuddering with a rapid tempo. Stiles finally felt the luxury of sighing. Relief- he was alive.

But would Scott be? There was one angry Argent after him and another confused and stupidly in love Argent chasing after him armed to the teeth with no code but love to prevent them from killing Scott. A little bead of guilt stung Stiles. His best friend was about to get killed, because of him. Because he was trying to kill me! He defended himself.

And he would've killed me if it weren't for…Derek! Stiles eyes shot open in shock at forgetting his true knight in shining armor. Shining armor actually being a tightened leather jacket.

Without any further hesitation, Stiles bolted to the tree and the bloody massacre scene that had been created minutes before. The body was slumped against the tree and a grotesque puddle of blood was saturating every inch of Derek's body.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God." Stiles was panicky, his fingers terrified to touch the body.

"Don't be dead."

He looked down over Derek, having no idea where to start. CPR? Tie the shirt into bandages? Go find some mother to kiss these wounds better? Maybe Mrs. McCall, she was a nurse and a mother. She's also the mother of the boy who did this…

No, not now- he could not let his thoughts run around at a time like this. Focus. He needed to focus.

"What do I do?" He still continued to anxiously speak out.

He remembered reading something about applying pressure. Actually, there was no reading involved except the TV guide. It must have been House or some doctor show. But not Doctor Who because he wasn't an actual doctor…

NO. NO. Stiles berated himself, refusing his mind to run off on a tangent while Derek was dying.

Carefully, Stiles lingered his fingers on the top of Derek's neck, seeking out a pulse. At first his fingers remained still, but after a little push, Stiles felt the slight throbbing of a heart beat under his finger tips. But it was weak.

Pressure- he had to apply pressure to the wound.

He looked around; trying to find some cloth object he could use to pat down the wound, realizing that his own hands wouldn't work. He needed more. He was about to reach for his own shirt, but found none on his body and cursed his shirtlessness. He looked at Derek and considered tacking his jacket off and using that, but maneuvering it off would cause more harm than good. And the jacket was practically a sponge, already dripping with blood.

"Shit." Stiles swore as he looked around one last time. He happened to glance down and notice his shorts that clung to his thighs. He didn't have time to be embarrassed. He zipped them off and in a flash he had them curled over Derek's wound. Practically naked in the forest with a dying older man- yeah, this was much better than being at home playing video games. At school when the teachers ask 'what did you do this weekend' he would definitely have the most interesting story.

Focus, damn Stiles, focus!

It wasn't hard to judge where the wound was, he sought out the largest hole in his body and pressed. He was afraid he would press the guts and intestines out of Derek's body, leaving them to spill out on the other side. But after a few seconds of pressure, he found none of that happening. It looked like the back of Derek had already begun healing. Stiles let out an exasperated sigh and continued to push down on the wound.

He looked over Derek's figure and then saw the chest finally begin to make noticeable heaves of air, breathing in and out stiffly, sucking in air wildly. His shoulder wound looked mildly infected, but the skin had begun to creep back to where it was ripped off earlier. Stiles was mainly worried about the stomach wound.

He was no doctor, but without a doubt if this wound had occurred to normal human that person would be dead within seconds. He had no idea about how far werewolf healing would go, but he hoped pretty far.

As he pressed down on the shorts he could already feel the blood soak up through the fabric, wetting his palms with Derek's blood. He tried to ignore the feeling of how cool the blood was. Blood was supposed to be warm, not this frozen stinging sense.

And then he could feel it. The intestines. He shook his head, trying to pretend they were worms or spaghetti. But in his naked exterior and the cool of the night, his sense of touch was intensely heightened and every movement of the organs was magnified, squirming and wriggling under the pressure.

They oozed under his grip and Stiles felt vomit creep up his throat and nearly flood his mouth. But he couldn't throw up now. When this was all over he was sure he would never eat again and spend the next several nights on the toilet spewing. But not now. Now he needed to do what he could do.

Suddenly there was large coughing noise and Stiles felt the abs under his grip tighten, forcing the intestines' into a sucking seizure, gurgling them under his grip.

His eyes flashed up to Derek's face, which had unleashed a new wave of blood spewing. It splattered over Stiles raw body, but he ignored it, though it was warm on his icy flesh.

"Derek…" Stiles murmured out. His voice began to crack; he couldn't even ask if he was okay. He obviously was not okay.

Another gurgling sound poured out from Derek's mouth and a sticky liquid, which looked strangely like pus, drooled out from the corners of his lips. The gurgling sound this time did not fade and continued, getting louder and louder. It began to sound like a vacuum, clogged by honey. Or a drain, desperately gasping to swallow down the water but met with no air. No air.

Stiles could tell he was suffocating. Or choking on the blood and oozing substance. He didn't have time to debate what to do. It must have been Baywatch where he watched one of the falsely busty girls turn a man over to his side to allow the fluids to drain.

He looked over at Derek's figure, rolled onto his back with a massive wound on his stomach and a weak framing on his back. And now Stiles had to shift him to his side. He couldn't just turn his neck for the shoulder wound had reached up to the neck. No, Derek would have to be flipped completely over.

"I'm so sorry Derek…" Stiles gripped his blood drenched shorts and wrapped his other hand around to Derek's back.

He tried, oh, so carefully to turn Derek. But the moment he shifted Derek and the initial batch of blood was drained a loud scream emitted from Derek.

Stiles didn't even know Derek could scream, didn't even Derek could feel pain. But of course he was in pain. But he was alive.

It was a blood curdling scream but Stiles continued apologizing as calmly and as rapidly as possibly. Every hair on his body stood up and Stiles bit through his lip, trying not to cry at the sound. He flipped Derek all the way over and held him there, letting the blood drain from his lips. The scream ended, but as Stiles turned Derek over to his side all the way, he felt the intestines literally slump into his hand. He resisted the urge to shove them back in or squeeze.

"Stiles…" The weak voice vibrated from Derek's voice.

"No. You are not talking." Stiles felt himself choke up. Tears were forming. Derek was alive. He was going to live. He wasn't going to die because of his damn need to save Stiles human little butt.

Stiles eyes were blinded by tears and his vision became fuzzed.

"But-

"No. Focus on your little werewolf healing magic and then we can talk." His voice was cracking and he was trying so hard not to cry. He sad and happy, frustrate and concerned, and his tears tasted of every ounce of confused emotion in his body.

The blood had seemed to cleared out of Derek's throat and Stiles warned Derek he was about to shift him over again, back to his back. Derek gave a weak nod, which earned a slight scolding from Stiles. Derek tried to repress a moan as his back folded onto the ground, but the pain shot up and down his spine in rapid motions causing a groan anyways. Stiles cringed and gently tried to wiggle the organs back into stomach.

And the pair sat like that for the rest of the night. Derek, drifting in and out of consciousness with Stiles pressed with bloodied clothes that had been long over soaked to do any good on his stomach. Stiles sat in that silence, often staring up at the stars, avoiding any look at Derek except when he was conscious. Stiles was listening for gun shots, for any shouting of Scott and the Argents, but all he heard was the silence of the crickets clicking.

0-0-0

-0-0-0-

0-0-0

It wasn't until the first light of dawn that Stiles was finally able to remove his cramped hand from Derek's stomach. He gingerly removed the previously black shorts from the stomach and was relieved to find he could no longer see, let alone feel the organs. The skin was bright red, and still bleeding, but nothing to worry about. He flexed his fingers stiffly as one of them cracked loudly, sending a wave of relief up Stiles cramped body.

"I should be dead." Derek said bluntly. It was the first words he had truly spoken that weren't moans or protests for Stiles to stop.

"That makes two of us." Stiles arched his back and leaned back against the tree. The rough bark scratched his naked skin.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, tilting his neck to side with some difficultly as the shoulder wound had just finished healing. "My healing shouldn't have been able to heal of these wounds…"

Stiles couldn't think of what to say. "You can thank some TV doctor for that, teaching me to use pressure. Though not Dr. Phil because if somebody was dying he would probably just tell them how they screwed up their life and about how they should feel when dying."

Derek let out a chuckle that Stiles could tell was slightly forced. "But thank you," Stiles continued, "for saving me from Scott."

He cringed. He hadn't heard any gunshots and he didn't know what happened to Scott after the Argents left to chase him. It hadn't entered his mind much. He was mainly focused on saving Derek and when those thoughts faded his mind went blank, but not fully asleep.

"After trying to…" Bite you Derek thought, but was unable to find the words that were caught in his throat. Stiles nodded, knowing exactly what he meant without needing the words. They didn't need to talk about that. They had both been through enough. "I owed you."

"No, no you didn't." Stiles looked back over at Derek. "I will never understand people. We always have to 'owe' people stuff. You didn't owe me anything. I'm not a bank and our friendship isn't a loan or a grant."

Friendship. Yes, it was that and every other word that could be used to describe a relationship. Enemies, partners, haters, lovers, friends.

"I did owe you though. My life, several times over."

Stiles stared into the electric blue eyes that even hours after death were still vibrant. "You aren't dumb enough to rush into a fight simply because you 'owe me one'. I want to know why, why the hell you would do all of this for some human?"

Derek looked up at the sky. The dawn was fully breaking now, little edges of pink peaked out over the night. "All of it?"

"Yes." Stiles answered simply.

"You're a part of my pack, not with fangs and whatever dog pun I'm sure you're thinking of but you are you've been since the beginning. And even though it wasn't your problem you still fought against Peter and helped Scott. Even though it wasn't your fight. I've never met anybody so stubborn and stupidly selfless like that. In our world, the way werewolves work is the alpha protects the others because he needs the others for strength. It's not love or respect or any of that- it was power. But you were always there, every fight and every turn of events your pale presence was always there and you had nothing to gain really. So it killed me to watch you get pushed around when you were doing all of this of your own free will. It disgusted me. And I'm assuming Peter noticed it too and in his own damned way tried to save you from it by offering you the bite. Maybe he saw everything that would come of you being human around wolves. But I don't pretend to understand what was going on in his head."

"But eventually I did see you, how you always got pushed around by Scott. You needed to break away from him just as much as he needed to break away from you- Probably more. Even if the scent thing wasn't an issue, I still respect you too much to see you get treated like absolute crap. You deserve so much more than what he gives to you."

Stiles let out a silent breath that he had been holding in. He had never heard Derek talk so much.

"But at the end of it all I realized…" He looked back over at Stiles, "I need you."

Stiles leaned up next to Derek's arm, gently resting there in a mix of exhaustion and comfort. The sun delicately was rising above the horizon above them. It provided little rays of warmth against the frozen air. Stiles face fell into the crevice of Derek's chest. His eyes were numb with tears and his body was fatigued from fear.

He still felt that panic of Derek's death in his stomach, the wrenching and twisting feeling of knowing the wolf could have died. After everything they had been through, he couldn't just die. He couldn't. Stiles notched in further, leaning into Derek with heavy eyelids weighted down with. No, he couldn't die. Not now, not ever.

Slowly, Stiles curled his fingers around Derek's much larger ones. At first Derek shifted away from the touch, Stiles had expected enough and squeezed his fingers together slightly, refusing to let go. After a moment of eternity Derek's fingers relaxed in Stiles grip and the two melded together.

"I need you too."


	12. Side of a bullet

He stared at the gun. It was sunk down slightly on his bed, heavy with the weight of regret and bullets. Little creases folded up under the sheets from it. His hands shook every time he got near it. So he just continued to stare at it. His fingers trembled at its sight and he questioned if he would ever be able to hold it.

He had never really touched a gun before. He had gone shooting a few times with his father before, but not like this. It was his father's gun. If he was around he would have been pissed he had taken it out of its spot in the nightstand. But what did it matter, his father was busy anyways, somewhere else always caring about somebody else.

He finally collapsed onto a chair next to the bed. His eyes never left the black beast of the gun. All of his fingers were shaking and sweat dripped down his face. He hadn't felt this terrified in a long time. He wasn't this scared when fighting Peter and Jackson all those times. This was different.

He brought his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard and his lips smashed into a grimace. He let out a quick sniffle, clenching his eyes for only a minute, taking away the sight of the gun. When he opened them, they were blurry with tears. Except for the gun, that was clear, that was in focus.

And that was all that was left for him.

0-0-0-

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0-0-0

"Stiles!" The voice called again. But the boy continued to march ahead, a determined glare in his eyes. "Damn it Stiles! Stop!"

A hand reached around his shoulders, yanking him back as a pair of glowing red eyes seeped into his own. Stiles shook his shoulders gently, rolling them out of the hands touch.

"Look, I need to do this." He said. His heart beat was pounding, but it was truthful. Every beat was sincere and terrified.

Derek shook his head, his lips twitched with uncertainty, begging to find words. "No, no you don't." His eyes grew wider with authority. He stared back into Stiles averting eyes. "Nobody is making you do this."

"Somebody doesn't have to make me." Stiles continued, meeting the fierce eyes. "I want to do this."

"Stiles…" Derek murmured.

"I need to do this."

Derek pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Why the hell are you so stubborn?"

Stiles shrugged. "I guess it's because I ate all my vegetables as a kid."

Derek clenched his jaw tightly, not finding any humor in the serious situation. The awkward pair, a lanky teenage boy in plaid and the muscular man in a leather jacket, stopped at the edge of the corner. Derek could hear Stiles heart thumping from fear, pounding with the desire to run- just run. But Stiles never listened to anything, not his mind, not his heart, and not Derek. Those big brown eyes just stared up at the house and a large gulp echoed around the street.

0-0-0

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Scott could hear the heartbeats outside of his window. One of them was so familiar and even more rapidly paced than normal. Stiles heartbeat was always erratic- caught in between ADHD and seizure level. The other was faster than normal as well, but it had a lower and deeper tone.

He let out a groan, propping his elbows against the edge of the bed and thrusting his face into his hands. It had only been two nights ago and he couldn't get it out of his head.

All he wanted was Stiles. To turn him, to kill him- really, he didn't know what he wanted. And it made him sick. He remembered everything. Every vivid detail played itself over and over again in his mind. It was painted on the inside of his eyelids and every blink retold the story again and again.

Once Stiles left the locker room, Scott could feel the rage, the anger, the disgust- every feeling that had ever consumed him in his wolf form. It boiled up the moment Stiles slammed the door and fled. Scott dug his claws into the roots of his hair, begging to get a grip, but all he could feel were the horrid feelings that flooded into him. It burned at every thought. His fist found its way, slamming into a locker and causing a massive crater to appear in its wake. He thought of Allison- of her lips, her curves, her hair, her smile, her laugh- anything. But the animalistic desire thrust out love and lust, overpowering them with rage and abandonment. He tried to think of his mom, of happy times with Stiles, of anything he could. But it still came. It was a tidal wave, consuming and drowning out everything human.

It came with a fire and rippled through him and Scott felt nothing more than the need to make Stiles pay. He had given him the chance to be a werewolf. He had given him a lot, and now it was his turn. In his mind, everything made sense. The scent of Derek, the putrid fear that leaked off of Stiles- Stiles was abandoning him. And that begged for death and retribution. The wolf was hurt and needed to punish.

He followed the brunette out of the school, leaping over rooftops and crouching, lying in wait as he lingered in the police station. His patience to pounce even lasted until he got to Stiles house. But the moment his feet pressed on the rooftop he knew he was not alone. And despite being in his animalistic senses, he could still feel afraid of Derek. He was the alpha and Scott was just a lingering little pup. And so Scott waited.

The anxiety, oh the fickle anxiety, gnawed on his soul. He felt Stiles heartbeat rocket at the site of Derek and Scott wanted nothing more than to rip it out. He wanted to rip out Derek's heartbeat as well, which had escalated in similar response. But he waited. It had to be just him and Stiles, no vile Derek interrupting them.

Suddenly, another scent filled the air. It was lust. It was desire. And it was coming from Derek. Scott gritted his teeth, this was wrong. Those scents should not have been coming from Derek and yet they radiated off of him, infuriating Scott's wolf even more. But within moments there was a shout, a stuttered apology, and another slammed door. Scott looked down and saw a disgruntled Stiles moodily stalking across the street. His hands were plunged into his pockets and a deep frown was laced across his face. He was muttering something as he crossed the street under the dim light.

Now. Scott thought as he looked at the shirtless boy. The skin was begging to be shredded. Those wide eyes pleaded to be emerged in shock and fear. The moon hung high in the background and edged on the wolfs plea for blood.

Scott's fingertips were curled over the edging of the roof, rubbing against the shingles in horrid anticipation. Scott was nearly foaming at the edge of his lips, this is what he wanted, this is what the wolf wanted; Revenge, punishment, and justice.

A slight bumping noise disrupted his murderous train of thought, drawing his attention away from the sulking boy. It was a faint voice, yelling for Stiles attention. Derek. Scott thought as his frown grew deeper into his feature. Not his prey. Not again. Not this time. Derek would not distract Stiles and he would not take him away.

He watched as Derek barely stumbled out of the house. One of his hands was wrapped around his forehead and the other around his stomach. Scotts eyes leered down at the figure.

In a flash he leapt down from the roof, slamming his body on the diluted figure beneath him. Derek wasn't expecting it and was smashed by the impact, falling to the ground in a twisted position with Scott lingering over him, eyes glowing mad. Derek attempted to let out a sharp growl, but he found himself still in odd contact with his werewolf after the dilemma with Stiles. It came out as a distorted yelp.

A faint smile curled at Scott's lips as he bent over the exhausted Derek. His icy hands gripped the elder man's wrist and pushed backwards, twisting the arm and shoulder with a sickening crack and shook through Derek's body. Derek let out a stifled scream at the pain and the series of popping ticks that occurred. Scott continued to twist and push it backwards- the bone snapping in a multitude of places.

Derek attempted to thrash, to shove Scott off with his free limbs, but Scotts instincts were too fast as his hand clutched around Derek's neck and pressed down, constricting the air flow leaving the man with heaping breaths of air.

He leaned over the struggling body, teeth darting out and eyes with a sickly yellow and gently murmured "He's mine". With a final snap he completely dislocated the arm, leaving it connected but all nerves split. It hung uselessly on the ground next to Derek whose eyes were wide with shock.

Something was telling Scott to kill Derek. Then he would be the alpha. Then he would have the power. Then Stiles wouldn't have a choice. Then he could protect Allison and get rid of Peter.

It would be so easy. A little snap or cut here or there. It could all be over.

But as he was looking down at Derek, the glowing red eyes caught his attention, drawing their eyes into a lock. Derek's face had cancelled out the pain and drew a serious and determined look.

"No, he's not."

He said it, so calm, so confident and with so much purity that Scott was frozen for a moment.

Scotts face contorted immediately at the response. It was a challenge. And it could be ended oh so simply. But his hand would not move. He couldn't kill Derek. He found himself frozen, lingering over the body with wide eyes.

Not His. Who was this person to say that Stiles wasn't his? Stiles was his… friend. Stiles was always there. He was his. Stiles was always Scott. When did he come to be shared by Derek?

Yet Derek had said it with such confidence, such truth. And again the scent of desire lifted off of his leather jacket. It was disgusting. And confusing. It seemed to push Scott away from the broken figure.

Everything just seemed so wrong.

What was Stiles to Derek? What was Stiles to him?

Scotts hand shot to his head, fingers curling through his hair trying to push the thoughts away. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel so confused anymore. He just didn't want any of it.

And so he ran. He left Derek there, the desire to kill him all but pushed to the back of his mind. He stumbled away from the confused alpha. But he didn't get far before the scent of Stiles found its way back to his nose. And that brief moment of clarity, of humanity- it was gone.

And he had no more patience to wait on Stiles. He quickly tracked him down, watching from the darkened trees as he passed by.

Stiles would come. He always came. And so Scott cried, he howled, he begged. He screamed, he yelped, he pleaded. Soon enough he heard Stiles feet plowing through the woods, romping around like a noisy animal.

And then… Scott didn't want to remember what happened. He tried so hard to push the taunts out of his mind. Those weren't his words. He tried to pretend the chase didn't happen, that he didn't savagely threaten his best friend and chase him.

He tried not to picture Stiles face. It was crushed and he knew it was the end. But past the tears and cringing, all Scott could feel was the disappointment. Stiles was disappointed. There was no anger in those brown eyes and that seemed to dig the most into Scott's heart.

Then a figure crashed into him and that disgust in himself washed away, replaced again by the rage. His vision swarmed with red and he remembered throwing him against a tree… But when he looked down there was blood.

On his hand.

And his hand was shoved through a stomach.

His hand was coated in the dense liquid. It dripped over and poured across his hands. Blood.

So warm and it came with a sweet aroma that his wolf seemed to devour, yet with a metallic sting that burned what was left of the human inside Scott.

He looked up at Derek's distraught and pained face. He looked back down at his hand. It was soaked with blood. He did it. He felt sick looking at it. But he couldn't stop and his arm twisted, screwing the intestines in a sickening pattern. He was sickened. He couldn't believe that was his arm. But he could feel the organs sloshing against his skin, tickling the edges of his arm hair, and the blood stench creeping up his nose, feeding the animal inside him even more.

Then he heard her voice.

It was like church bells and the devils anthem at the same time.

What was she doing here?

Why was she here?

What would she think?

He experienced a new type of fear just then. It was worse than getting caught cheating on another girl; it was worse than forgetting an anniversary or birthday- it was getting caught killing your best friend. And she was there. Her eyes were swollen with confusion.

Past that, Scott couldn't remember much. He was silent. He exchanged confused looks with his lover… and then he ran.

He ran. He heard a car behind him.

Allison's voice carried through the forest, screaming alongside her father.

He just ran.

Ran from Allison, ran from Stiles, and ran from all the confusion.

He ran for a whole day, dodging Allison and eventually he wound up at his house, the last place he would be found.

That's when everything crushed him. Derek- all he could picture was his arm through his stomach. Stiles- his disappointed face. Allison- her disgust and confusion at her bloody boyfriend.

Once the rage and adrenaline and emotions of being a werewolf faded, he threw up. In an effort of exhausted he attempted to get sleep, but the images that rampaged around his mind were too horrible.

He couldn't even take a shower to wash off the blood and grime- the touch of water seemed to burn him and magnify everything. There were chills that were icy and burning at the same time, racing all over his skin with nippy teeth.

That's when he remembered the gun and the way out of the confusion.

0-0-0

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0-0-0

Stiles had walked into this house a hundred times, probably more. But the lump in his throat had never occurred before. He was terrified. His hand lingered over the handle and Derek stood behind him, hand gently resting on the edge of Stiles shaking shoulders. The warmth was comforting, but it didn't distill the fear. What if Scott attacked him? What if Scott hated him? Stiles face cringed. What if he hated Scott?

He should hate him. Deep inside he knew that there should be a flowing stream of hatred. He should be flooded with disgust and hatred at the teen, but he couldn't do it.

Stiles thought back to the first time he met Scott. They were friends instantly. Scott was silent at first, nodding softly to all of Stiles blabbering and eventually he opened up, talking with a wild sense of humor that nearly made Stiles fall of the swings of the playground. They had been together ever since. And every time Stiles saw Scott, covered in patchy werewolf hair and a grimace, all Stiles could see was that shy little boy rocking by himself on the swings. Stiles saw himself so much in those big brown eyes. Even when those eyes turned yellow and full of an unknown beast, Stiles could still find Scott in them.

And it wasn't his fault. Well, maybe it was. But Stiles wouldn't allow Scott to blame himself for his actions. He couldn't control the wolf and his urges. Whatever those urges included. Stiles knew he couldn't do any better of a job and would be devastated. Of course, Stiles wasn't dumb enough to fall in love with the hunter's daughter… but Stiles pushed that thought out of his mind. He had made a decision he was going to stick to it.

"Stiles…" Derek's breath lingered with concern on Stiles neck. Suddenly all Stiles wanted was to run into the alphas arms and bury this uncomfortable feeling in his broad chest.

Yet he felt himself being pulled towards the door. "He's upstairs right?" Stiles stumbled out. Even his tongue was nervous. He swiveled around, looking into Derek's blue eyes that responded with a subtle nod. Derek could sense Scott's presence in the upper level.

His finger lightly pressed the doorbell and a soft ringing echoed through the house. Stiles chewed the edge of his lip to the beat of the humming tune inside the house. He paused for a few moments, expecting to hear the normal thundering down the stairs and the creak of the floor. Only silence followed.

Stiles head rocked nervously back and forth as his finger plunged into the button again. Another eternity of silence passed and no movement. Stiles glanced up Derek who shook his head, indicating that even his highly sensitive ears heard nothing.

Stiles finger continued to prod the button and a series of obnoxious buzzing sounds ringed from inside. He swore lightly under his breath and his finger jabbed and jabbed. Derek reached out, wrapping his rough hands around Stiles finger and gently pulled it off the button.

A deep breath flooded Stiles lungs as he tried to calm down. He reached his fingers into his pocket and began to dig around for the keys. Finally his fingers grasped the grossly scented metal and he spun around the keychain, searching for a silver key with simple indents.

Stiles shoved his key in the door. He had a key for a long time, but he never used it. The window was always so much more exciting, so much more exotic. Pulling that crafty maneuver seemed like a horrible idea right now. Mrs. McCall had given the key to him, telling him their house was always open for him.

With a slight click the door opened and in Stiles excitement he literally would have fallen into the house had Derek not grabbed him by the back scruff of his shirt and held him up. Derek was tempted to roll his eyes, but he was overcome with the seriousness of the situation.

Stiles had begged Derek to come back and talk to Scott hours before. He knew Scott would be at his house. Derek couldn't understand why after everything he would still run back to Scott. And that was when Stiles almost broke down and cried, all he could do was stumble out a few sentences about friendship. Seeing Stiles, with red puffy eyes, it killed Derek and he couldn't bear to see it and agreed, if only to patch things over with Scott or, if it came to it, kill him.

Stiles ran into the house. He had expected some kind of greeting. A shout or some running footsteps or some kind of acknowledgment from Scott.

"He's still upstairs…" Derek whispered, edging on the side of caution.

Of course around Stiles, the man who drove through a wall to hit Jackson and Gerard subtly wasn't really that important.

"SCOTT!?" Stiles screamed, his hands cupped around his lips. Derek cringed at the loud noises and shot Stiles an annoyed look. But the younger teen didn't catch the look; instead his eyes were focused with slight tear blurs at the stairs.

"SCOTT!" He repeated, roaring up the stairs with Derek protectively locked at his side.

Stiles vision was beginning to get blurry from anxiety and tears. His legs inched towards the stairs.

That was when the sound of a bullet shot through the house.

0-0-0-

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Scott heard them coming. Their heartbeats were distant in his ears, only adding additional thumps to his headache. He swallowed hard and fingered the edges of the gun. It was slick and smooth at the edges with a scatter of bumps near the trigger. His hand slowly wrapped around the cool metal that seemed to sting at the touch.

This was it. This could end it all. Stiles would be safe. Allison would be free to hunt werewolves and fulfill her family role, or maybe fall in love with somebody with a slightly less complicated situation. Stiles would be safe.

His mother passed briefly in his mind. He couldn't leave her alone. But the grief of his actions for the last weekend pressed down with a heavy weight on his mind. Sinking, drowning, and pushing his threads to this world lower and lower.

His fingers wrapped around the trigger. It felt so wrong and unfamiliar.

He heard his name shouted and his heart skipped a beat. He hadn't noticed the pair below enter the house. They were closer now. Scott couldn't understand why Stiles was here. Had they come to kill Scott?

All Scott could see was Stiles face and guilt was heavy on his heart. He couldn't look at the face anymore in his mind, yet it appeared with every blink. Every corner of the room was his face.

There was his name again.

He couldn't handle it. Everything was falling apart. It was painful to breath anymore. The tears sunk down his face and dripped lightly on the tip of the gun. This was it.

His breaths came shorter and shorter. This must be a panic attack, he thought dismally. Stiles had gone through panic attacks before… Stiles would be safe. Allison would be free. Things would be better without him. And even if they weren't he couldn't handle the grief that was consuming his heart. It was dense and he felt himself sinking into the floor.

He raised the gun to the edge of his head and pressed on the trigger with a final goodbye.

0-0-0

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Stiles burst through the room. He didn't have time to fiddle with a lock, to beg and pound on the door. He pressed into the door with all of his might, with adrenaline and strength he didn't know he had and the door fell backwards and caved in from his fury.

"SCOTT!" Stiles screamed as his eyes frantically darted around the room.

And there was Scott, his hands on his head and a deep sob emerging from his chest.

Stiles had seen enough crime shows and his father's police reports to notice that something was wrong. More wrong than this whole situation. There was no blood. Not a drop. At first he thought that Scott's werewolf healing kicked in, but that wouldn't prevent the blood.

He heard Scotts sobbing and immediately bolted towards his friend who lay crumpled down on the floor. "What the hell Scott? Tell me you are alive! Don't you dare do this!"

The moment Stiles came within a foot of the figure, Scott reared up, scooting away from Stiles. The gun was still in his hand and instinctively it pointed at Stiles.

Stiles eyes grew wide and crossed at the gun. It was sleek and black and pointing right at him. His breath immediately caught in his throat. This was the last thing he had expected. A werewolf with a gun.

"Scott!" Derek shouted, entering the room to see Scott with the gun pointed at his precious Stiles. His legs sunk into a crouch and his claws sprung out, ready to sink into a certain boys flesh, when Stiles exclaimed "Stop Derek!"

But the wolf didn't listen and prepared to lunge. His feet had nearly left the ground before Stiles screamed again, this time with a new sharper force that he hadn't known existed. "STOP." Derek's body listened, immediately stiffening in that position.

"Put the gun down." Derek demanded through his fangs.

His eyes finally narrowed down, truly seeing Scott. He was terrified. The circle around Scott's eyes protruded all the way into his skull, deep black sockets with brown eyes that peered out, wide with confusion and fear. They were red from tears and it looked like more were pouring out. Sweat created a thin coating over his skin and his mouth was gaped open trying to find words or air or both. His pulse was sky high and he was afraid. Not of me Thought Derek, No- Of himself.

Stiles always had a keen eye for detail and there was one thing that seemed different than the last time he had been in Scott's room. There were the condoms on the dresser and obviously the gun in his friend's hand, but up in the corner of the ceiling there was a bullet hole, digging its way feet from the still fan.

A sharp hiccup drew Stiles away and Scott had shifted his eyes from Stiles to the gun. "I couldn't… I … I tried to kill you." He stuttered between tear strung breaths.

"Well, if you put the gun down you can stop trying for a second time." Stiles responded, gesturing slowly to the gun.

Scotts face turned slightly alarmed and he dropped the gun with a shock, not even realizing he had been aiming it at his friend. It had felt like purely reflex to aim the gun at the intruder, his mind and body not even processing it was Stiles.

The gun fell to the ground with a dull thud and within seconds Derek had picked it up, storing it in the back pocket of his jeans, pressing it as far away from Scott as possible.

"Are… are you here to kill me?" Scott asked quietly. His voice choked out the words and his throat trembled at every point.

Stiles just stared at the boy in a blank silence.

"What?"

Stiles could see Scotts Adams apple shake as Scott swallowed hard. He spoke with a quick tempo, as if the words were burning in his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I'm so god damn sorry Stiles. You don't deserve any of this, you don't. I couldn't help it." Tears poured out of already puffy eyes as Scott continued "I tried. I tried to end it myself. I'm too weak and I couldn't and –"

"Shut up."

Scott found himself staring at his hands. The hands that were too weak to hold the gun to himself. The hands that throttled Derek and Stiles. "No Stiles, I can't live with myself! I hurt you and Derek and I'm a –

"I said to shut up Scott."

Scott gingerly looked up at his friend. Stiles stood, fists clenched and arms trembling. His nails were digging into his skin and his eyes had swelled up. Hints of snot trickled from his nose and tears dripped in a clean line down his eyes. His entire body seemed to be shaking.

"Don't you ever fucking try that again." Stiles commanded, trying desperately to keep his voice from cracking.

"But-

"No Scott," Stiles said, "No buts. No nothing. You will never, ever try to end your life again."

"I tried to kill you Stiles!"

"It wasn't your fault!"

"Yes! Yes it was. Everything is always my fault. Stiles, don't try to play this off and be fucking nice to me. I tried to kill you and I almost killed Derek too. I don't deserve to live-

Stiles moved forward and slammed his fist into the side of Scotts face.

A look of shock appeared on Scott and Derek's face. Even Stiles looked a little surprise. Scott softly reached to feel the burning in his cheek where he was struck.

Stiles sunk down and gripped Scott by the shoulder. "You are not allowed to say that. You are my best friend. Sometimes you're a lovesick moron. Sometimes you're a deranged werewolf. Sometimes you try to kill me. Sometimes you cheat off of me on a test. But you are always my best friend. And you always will be."

Stiles paused and heard a slight hiccupping sob coming from his friend. "You can try to kill me as many times as you want but I will always come back and I will always be here, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

"Stiles, I don't deserve this-

"Yes you fucking do and don't you say that you don't ever again. You were there for me when my mom died. And I'm here for you through this werewolf insanity. You are not allowed to hurt yourself and you are not allowed to feel bad about this. I can't live without you Scott."

Scotts hand reached up and patted at his eyes, trying to halt the ever flowing tears.

"We're going to get through this. Even if there's some for a werewolf couples therapy we have to visit. I'm not going to give up on you Scott."

Stiles gripped Scotts other shoulder and forced him up so that their brown eyes met.

"Not ever."

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Authors Note: That's all folks! Thanks for reading!


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